NOTES  UPON  CERTAIN 
MASTERS 


NOTES 

UPON 

CERTAIN    MASTERS 

OF  THE 

XIX    CENTURY 

BY 

ALBERT    WOLFF 
ET  AL 


PRINTED    NOT    PUBLISHED 
MDCCCLXXXVI 


M.  Albert  Wolff 

[E  exhibition  in  June,  1883,  in  the  rue  de  Se"ze,  of 
one  hundred  of  the  most  celebrated  paintings  then 
owned  in  Paris  was  the  most  notable  event  of  its  kind 
that  had  happened  in  the  artistic  history  of  that  city. 
Americans  who  were  abroad  in  that  year  and  saw  this 
wonderful  collection  might  well  congratulate  themselves  upon  their 
good  fortune ;  for  it  was  as  unique  as  it  was  memorable — unprece- 
dented then,  impossible  now.  Here  were  assembled  in  a  spacious 
gallery  some  eighty  of  the  choicest  pearls  of  the  greatest  period  of 
modern  art.  Never  had  such  a  representation  been  seen  of  the 
phalanx  of  1830.  It  was  the  final  ceremony  that  proclaimed  and 
fixed  the  domain  which  had  been  conquered  and  shared  by  COROT, 
ROUSSEAU,  DIAZ,  MILLET,  DAUBIGNY,  FROMENTIN,  DELACROIX, 
TROYON  and  DECAMPS — the  art  of  modern  France,  and  its  like  will 
never  again  be  seen  there.  Individual  vicissitudes  and  the  insatiable 
competition  of  foreigners  have  made  it  impossible. 

It  was  a  great  exhibition,  and  it  will  never  be  forgotten  in  Paris  or 
anywhere  that  the  fame  of  it  has  reached  through  the  splendid  com- 
memoration that  is  afforded  in  the  Cent  Chefs-d'CEuvre  of  PETIT  and 
BASCHET,  with  its  eloquent  and  fascinating  text.  The  writer  of  the 
latter,  ALBERT  WOLFF,  is  not  only  the  most  intelligent  and  culti- 
vated of  contemporary  writers  upon  art,  but  he  has  the  advantage  of 
having  lived  with  many  of  these  great  artists  and  known  them  upon 
terms  of  personal  and  sympathetic  intimacy.  He  has  never  written 
better,  or  with  more  sensibility  and  genuine  emotion,  than  in  treating 
of  the  modern  contingent  in  the  Hundred  Masterpieces.  The  idea  has 
presented  itself  that  a  reproduction  of  these  passages  in  some  such 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

form  as  the  present  would  be  interesting  to  people  who  are  afforded 
an  opportunity  of  studying  representative  works  of  the  masters  of 
whom  M.  WOLFF  has  written.  There  is  no  one  in  whose  company 
it  is  more  agreeable  to  see  and  discuss  the  work  of  one  of  these 
painters,  and  the  specific  information  which  M.  WOLFF  takes  such 
pleasure  in  imparting  is  always  valuable.  Besides,  when  occasionally 
we  find  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  the  identical  subject  of  discus- 
sion, to  see  it  in  the  light  of  so  great  a  critic  is  a  privilege  not  to  be 
lightly  held. 


Jean-Baptiste  Corot 


>T  the  little  hamlet  of  Ville-d'Avray,  near  Paris,  a  specta- 
tor could  behold,  on  the  fine  summer  days  of  eight  or 
nine  years  past,  the  most  touching  spectacle  ever  ex- 
hibited by  an  artist  to  his  epoch.  An  old  man,  arrived 
at  the  apotheosis  of  a  long  lifetime,  wrapped  in  a 
blouse,  and  sheltered  under  a  linen  parasol,  whose  sunny  reflections 
framed  the  white  hair  in  a  sort  of  aureole,  was  there,  face  to  face 
with  the  landscape ;  attentive,  like  a  schoolboy ;  striving  to  entrap 
some  heretofore  unobserved  secret  of  nature  which  might  have 
escaped  his  seventy  years'  search ;  smiling  at  the  twitter  of  the  birds, 
and  giving  them  back,  from  time  to  time,  the  chorus  of  some  lively 
song ;  in  the  spirit  of  one  who  exults  in  his  twentieth  year,  who  de- 
lights to  live  and  whose  soul  expands  under  the  poesy  of  the  fields. 
Aged  as  was  this  great  artist,  he  believed  that  he  had  still  to  learn ; 
for  more  than  a  half  a  century  he  had  been  contemplating  creation, 
which  reported  some  new  revelation  for  every  day ;  according  to  this 
patriarch  there  was  no  such  thing  as  absolute  mastery  in  his  art,  and 
he  esteemed  the  life  of  a  man,  even  a  long  life,  inadequate  for  the 
study  of  landscape  on  all  its  sides  and  in  its  incalculable  variety. 

This  patriarch,  thus  living  in  submission  to  nature,  was  JEAN- 
BAPTISTE  COROT,  one  of  the  greatest  of  French  painters.  His 
renown,  now  fixed  for  eternity,  had  erected  itself  slowly  upon  a  labor 
of  fifty  years,  of  which  the  first  half  had  simply  been  a  long  strife 
between  the  ancient  successful  routine,  unrecognizant  of  such  a 
master,  and  the  obstinacy  of  the  artist  himself  in  walking  straight 
ahead,  athwart  the  disdain  of  some,  the  ignorance  of  others.  In  this 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

fine  soul  no  bitterness  had  been  left  by  the  long  combat  of  genius 
with  sleek  mediocrity.  COROT,  at  the  culmination  of  his  career, 
would  talk  without  any  irony  of  those  who  for  so  long  a  period  had 
denied  him.  In  the  conversations  I  have  had  with  him  this  mighty 
artist  never  allowed  the  smallest  trace  of  resentment  to  transpire, 
whether  against  the  exhibition  juries  who  had  rejected  his  early  works 
or  against  the  blind  spectator  who  had  passed  with  indifference  before 
the  revelations  contained  in  his  canvas.  He  would  tell  me  of  these 
episodes  in  his  career,  not  in  the  tone  of  a  man  willing  to  boast  of 
the  obstacles  he  had  cleared  and  the  recalcitrants  he  had  imposed  on, 
but  like  an  intelligence  replete  in  its  achievement,  innocently  and 
simply,  without  bitterness  as  without  braggadocio. 

When  he  talked  in  this  vein,  giving  the  recital  of  injustices 
received,  to  the  accompaniment  of  that  easy  smile  which  was  like  a 
radiation  of  goodness  over  his  fine  patriarch's  head,  we  venerated 
him  for  his  art  at  the  same  time  that  we  loved  him  for  the  rare  quality 
of  his  heart  of  gold.  Over  one  and  the  other  the  passage  of  the 
years  had  not  been  able  to  steal  away  from  the  artist  a  single  one  of 
his  enthusiasms,  from  the  man  a  particle  of  his  childlike  goodness. 
This  old  man  was  not  like  other  men  of  his  years,  of  whom  the  best 
are  unable  to  repress  a  kind  of  chagrin  in  comparing  the  long-traveled 
road  behind  them  with  the  short  one  which  remains  to  be  measured. 
He  had  but  to  install  himself  in  the  face  of  nature  to  recapture  the 
artistic  ardor  and  the  hopes  of  one's  twentieth  year.  When  young 
he  had  strolled  singing  over  the  plains,  and  old  age  found  him  just  as 
free  from  care  as  he  had  been  half  a  century  before.  We  could  but 
stand  spellbound  before  this  spectacle  of  beautiful  age,  when  we 
would  thus  discover  him  bent  like  a  schoolboy  over  his  themes  to  the 
last,  now  erasing  with  a  movement  of  anger  the  study  which  would 
not  come  up  to  the  example  of  nature  contemplated  by  the  artistic 
eye,  now  drawing  back  with  sudden  satisfaction  to  better  calculate 
the  effect  of  the  effort ;  when  we  would  hear  him  from  far  off, 
approving  himself  aloud  and  awarding  himself  a  prize  with  the 
words  "  Famous,  that  bit !"  or  criticising  himself  roundly  with  the 
sentence,  "  We  will  begin  it  all  over  again,  my  lad  !"  And  then  we 
must  needs  look  with  softened  eyes  upon  COROT  the  man,  even  as  we 
bow  with  emotion  before  his  results. 


JEAN-BAPTISTE    COROT 

It  must  be  noted,  again,  to  account  for  this  greenness  of  vitality  in 
a  man  of  his  age,  that  COROT  had  passed  through  life  as  one  of  the 
chosen  ones  of  destiny,  which  had  conferred  on  this  genius  the  boon 
of  health  and  spared  the  miseries  of  a  struggle  for  daily  bread.  The 
son  of  a  merchant,  he  had  been  sheltered  from  his  cradle  against 
need.  His  youth  was  untroubled,  save  by  the  long  opposition  ex- 
tended by  his  father  before  permitting  him  to  enter  the  artistic  career. 
But  this  resistance  once  withdrawn,  the  boy  COROT,  supported  by 
a  pension  from  the  father,  was  able  to  walk  through  life  laughing, 
and  to  arrive  at  the  term  of  his  glorious  career  without  having  been 
delayed  for  an  hour  by  the  need  of  practical  support. 

It  was  only  after  a  hundred  doubts  that  the  merchant  COROT  de- 
cided to  abandon  his  son  to  his  true  vocation.  When  the  young 
JEAN-BAPTISTE  had  finished  his  hasty  schooling,  he  was  condemned 
by  the  paternal  will  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  with  a  mercer  ;  't  was 
a  faulty  prentice,  who  sketched  landscapes  over  the  bills ;  the  em- 
ployer scolded  him  roundly  and  said  to  the  father  at  the  end  of  the 
second  year: 

"Yonder  lad  will  never  come  to  anything  in  the  shop.  I  am 
going  to  send  him  about  Paris  as  my  commercial  traveler." 

And  the  future  celebrity  began  to  plod  through  the  Paris  streets, 
with  a  card  of  samples  under  his  arm,  visiting  the  small  shop-keepers 
and  the  petty  tailors  to  recommend  the  goods  of  his  employer. 
COROT  narrated  to  me  with  his  own  lips  the  incident  which  caused 
him  to  abandon  trade  for  all  time.  After  having  trotted  about  the 
city  for  a  whole  week,  he  went  back  one  evening  to  the  shop,  all 
radiant  with  his  first  success  as  a  salesman ;  he  had  succeeded  in 
selling  a  tailor  an  entire  piece  of  olive  cloth,  the  fashionable  shade  of 
the  day,  and  he  came  back  with  the  announcement  to  his  proprietor. 
The  merchant,  far  from  congratulating  him,  assumed  his  severest 
tone  and  said  to  COROT  : 

"  I  have  no  need  of  your  aid  to  sell  my  olive  cloth,  which  every- 
body is  quarreling  to  get  hold  of  in  my  store.  A  smart  bagman 
would  force  upon  the  shops  my  spoiled  remnants  and  my  old-fash- 
ioned styles.  Do  you  perceive  ?  " 

The  lad  COROT  perceived  so  lucidly  that  he  was  disgusted  for 
good  with  the  trickeries  of  the  smaller  Parisian  commerce.  This 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

time  it  was  past  returning.  He  was  not  made  to  praise  before  a  cus- 
tomer that  which  his  conscience  found  inferior.  He  was  losing  his 
best  years,  he  declared,  in  commerce,  a  thing  which  could  never 
greatly  interest  him.  He  wished  to  be  a  painter,  nothing  else.  After 
some  protracted  storms,  his  father  agreed  conditionally.  His  attempts 
should  be  submitted  to  VICTOR  BERTIN,  a  master  in  great  vogue 
under  the  Restoration,  and  now  for  a  long  time  most  effectually  for- 
gotten. The  best  work  which  BERTIN  achieved  in  his  whole  career 
was  the  discovery  of  the  young  COROT'S  aptitude  and  the  conquest 
of  the  paternal  opposition.  VICTOR  BERTIN  promised  that  he  would 
make  something  out  of  the  youth. 

That  which  BERTIN  called  "  making  something  out  of  the  youth  " 
was  to  shape  him  into  his  own  likeness,  to  make  of  him  a  second-rate 
painter  of  what  was  called  historical  landscape,  because  a  scene  out 
of  history  was  set  to  playing  in  a  parcel  of  scenery  borrowed  from  the 
conventions.  From  the  pretentious  arrangers  of  landscape  in  that 
day,  the  seductions,  the  confidences,  the  poems  of  nature  quite  es- 
caped. They  rated  the  creation  as  something  beneath  their  genius. 
They  openly  avowed  the  presumptuous  attempt  to  correct  it,  as  they 
said.  You  could  not  practice  grand  art  unless  you  could  get  away 
from  the  actual,  unless  you  could  breed  in  your  head  a  vegetation  in 
contradiction  to  nature  and  wanting  in  life.  This  conventional  art 
was  called  grand  art,  in  opposition  to  the  quest  of  reality,  which  was 
little  art.  Thus  the  ingenious  VICTOR  BERTIN  produced  grand  art 
during  a  lifetime,  without  leaving  other  vestiges  of  his  endless  indus- 
try than  certain  commonplace  canvases,  bought  in  their  time  by  the 
Government  and  sprinkled  through  the  royal  residences,  where  we  can 
still  see,  as  for  instance  at  Compiegne,  the  low-water  mark  of  French 
painting  at  the  period. 

From  this  fatal  school  there  was  destined  to  emerge  one  of  the 
greatest  landscape  artists  that  ever  existed.  He  disengaged  himself 
by  saturating  his  being  with  nature  when  he  had  a  free  moment  to 
give  to  this  fountain  of  all  art,  and  in  elbowing  aside,  one  by  one, 
every  mistaken  lesson  in  his  independent  fashion  of  meeting  the 
works  of  creation.  This  disciple  of  BERTIN'S  was  simply  one  of  the 
predestinated,  under  whose  impulse  the  whole  of  the  ancient  routine 
stock  of  goods  was  to  be  criticised  away  into  non-existence.  The 


JEAN-BAPTISTE    COROT 

battle  was  long  and  furious.  On  returning  from  his  first  Italian  tour, 
whence  he  brought  the  admirable  studies  which  are  like  the  first 
lispings  of  his  genius,  COROT  found  artistic  France  in  revolution.  A 
constellation  of  young  spirits  had  arisen,  men  who,  in  their  impetuous 
effort  to  turn  back  landscape  painting  face  to  face  with  that  nature 
it  so  long  had  slighted,  raised  up  French  art,  and  secured  for  it  the 
preeminence  in  the  artistic  history  of  our  century. 

On  coming  into  France  again,  COROT  felt  his  soul  expand  before 
the  aspect  of  his  native  soil.  In  rambling  around  Paris  he  could 
revive  the  penetrating  and  vivid  impressions  of  his  earliest  years  ;  he 
could  breathe  freer  in  the  midst  of  this  scenery  where  he  was  born, 
and  which  came  closer  to  his  mind  and  to  his  whole  being  than  any 
Italy — the  spot  where  he  had  made  the  discovery  of  a  true  vocation. 
The  allowance  from  his  father  permitted  him  to  follow  his  inspira- 
tions and  to  chase  with  a  free  foot  the  quarry  of  his  instinct.  Those 
around  him  had  to  fight  for  the  mouthful  of  each  successive  day,  and 
the  heart-tumult  which  stirred  within  them  was  apt  to  express  itself 
by  wild  canvases  where  everything  was  confused  as  with  a  passing 
storm,  the  phantom  of  the  tortured  lives  of  these  pioneers.  For 
COROT  existence  was  a  developing  road,  cleared  of  every  care  but 
care  of  art.  His  thought  remained  serene  and  joyous  ;  the  whole  of 
creation  smiled  to  him.  Everything  seemed  impartially  grand  and 
fine  in  that  nature  which  unfolded  to  him  its  most  gracious  and  most 
poetic  side  ;  no  need  to  seek  afar,  he  thought,  that  which  is  always 
nearest  us,  the  greatness  and  simplicity  which  dwell  in  truth.  The 
controlling  principle  in  this  great  artist  is  never  to  strike  the  Philistine 
by  panoramic  magnitude,  but  to  establish  in  his  art  the  vibration 
which  is  in  nature,  to  take  by  surprise  its  perpetual  life,  to  send  the 
air  circulating  through  space,  to  shake  the  foliage  in  the  breeze.  He 
wishes  to  disengage  and  carry  to  his  canvas  the  poet's  impression  of 
the  object.  This  poetry,  he  rightly  deems,  is  not  only  in  the  composi- 
tion ;  the  composition  is  to  him  of  small  account ;  it  is  in  the  truth, 
for  nothing  is  of  such  finished  poetry  as  truth  itself.  Whether  it  be 
the  old  Bridge  of  Mantes,  glimpsed  through  the  tall  trees  which 
reflect  themselves  in  the  sunny  waters,  or  Garda  Lake,  stretching  out 
of  sight  into  the  light  of  dawn,  with  the  leafage  of  the  trees  upon  its 
brink  trembling  in  the  wind ;  it  is  always  the  country  feeling  which 

13 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

this  enchanter  seems  to  apply  to  his  canvas,  whatever  the  aspect ;  he 
makes  the  cloth  swim  with  the  rosy  fumes  of  morning,  or  he  sprinkles 
his  embroidery  with  the  humidity  of  coming  night ;  the  reeds  waved 
by  the  breeze  seem  to  stir  on  the  face  of  the  limpid  pools,  and  the 
boughs  of  the  trees  follow  with  new-born  impulse  the  vagaries  of  the 
air  current.  COROT  is  the  excelling  interpreter  of  serenity  in  nature. 

We  need  not  be  surprised  that  a  style  springing,  as  it  may  be  said, 
all  fresh  from  the  nerves  of  a  primitive  artist,  who  sought  the  support 
of  no  predecessor,  was  so  long  a  subject  of  debate.  The  public  had 
been  so  habituated  to  see  filing  before  its  eyes  a  succession  of  rigid 
landscapes  that  it  was  naturally  troubled  before  the  vibrating  themes 
of  COROT.  Those  who  recommence  eternally  the  official  teaching  of 
the  schools  rejected  him  desperately.  And  he,  the  quiet,  inspired 
man,  heard  little  of  the  clamor  in  the  solitude  of  his  woods,  on  the 
banks  of  the  pool,  where  he  opened  his  soul  to  the  enchantment  of 
creation. 

Wrestling  with  nature,  as  it  were,  breast  to  breast,  applying  him- 
self not  so  much  to  the  form  and  line  as  to  the  life  which  moves 
nature,  there  disengaged  himself  gradually  a  grand  artist  and  a  grand 
poet ;  one  in  whose  art  everything  charms,  allures,  enchants  as  in  the 
scene  itself.  There  is  no  trick  of  making  the  foreground  send  off  the 
•distances  of  the  picture;  an  atmosphere  that  envelops  all  as  in 
nature,  gives  all  its  harmony  of  color  and  establishes  all  in  per- 
spective. There  is  no  need  to  cut  an  unrecognizable  landscape  with 
the  track  of  a  Holy  Family;  he  shows  humanity  in  its  circulating 
medium,  which  is  the  atmosphere.  The  fisherman  on  the  banks  of 
his  pond  or  the  countryman  Nodding  through  an  avenue  of  trees  is 
sufficient  to  show  the  close  umon  between  the  country  and  him  who 
lives  by  the  country.  These  figures  are  never  thrown  into  their 
places  by  hazard ;  they  move  about  the  scene  to  make  its  impression 
perfect.  But  this  poet  has  hours  when  his  thoughts  take  their  flight 
towards  mysterious  regions,  and  then,  in  some  site  incomparably 
grand  in  its  very  realism,  he  makes  the  murmur  of  the  foliage  speak 
by  the  supernatural  apparition  of  nymphs  and  fauns,  even  as  the  bard 
believes  he  hears  the  voices  of  spirits  in  the  whisper  of  winds  passing 
through  the  trees.  But  these  figures,  whether  those  of  nymphs  or  of 
simple  fishers,  are  always  a  complemental  part  of  the  scene;  the 

14 


JEAN-BAPTISTE    COROT 

incarnation  of  an  emotion  the  artist  has  felt ;  so  true  it  is  that  in  art 
the  subject  is  naught,  and  that  its  whole  value  is  in  the  impression  it 
can  communicate. 

According  to  the  homefelt  sensations  of  the  artist  the  art  changes. 
Sometimes,  when  nature  strikes  him  by  its  precision  of  form  and  its 
distinctness  of  line,  he  follows  it  as  closely  as  any  of  the  grand 
masters.  Sometimes,  when  his  thought  is  arrested  by  the  general 
effect,  he  slights  the  detailed  part  and  only  renders  that  which 
occupies  himself  at  the  time.  This  is  why  in  the  series  of  the 
master's  works,  alongside  of  pictures  where  the  interpretation  is  so 
finished  and  where  rests  the  stamp  of  one  sole  side  of  this  varied 
talent,  there  are  themes  wherein  the  painter  only  follows  the  poetic 
impression  which  affects  him,  and  where  everything  is  sacrificed  to 
that  general  cast  of  the  subject.  But  the  mastery  is  always  the 
same,  whatever  the  visible  form  it  produces.  It  needs  to  be  equally 
experienced  to  stop  on  the  wing  the  leafage  flying  in  the  breeze  and 
fix  it  in  its  proper  key  of  expression  and  in  its  confused  mass,  or  to 
design  with  firm  hand  and  with  faultless  lines  the  trunk  of  an  oak 
buttressed  to  the  ground  by  its  stout  roots.  COROT'S  art,  it  has  been 
said,  is  a  window  opened  upon  nature,  and  it  is  true.  He  does  not 
return  to  us  only  with  a  recollection  more  or  less  felicitous  of  out-of- 
doors,  but  the  very  out-of-doors  is  brought  in  with  its  vibrations  and 
its  air.  Others  have  looked  at  creation  with  severer  eyesight  than 
COROT  ;  but  no  master  has  contemplated  nature  with  more  poetry, 
more  thorough  emotion. 

In  what  he  has  left,  all  is  not  of  equal  value.  To  insist  upon  its 
illustrious  distinction,  we  are  fain  to  cut  aside  the  hasty  production 
of  his  last  years,  when  after  long  nejlect,  and  in  the  rising  vogue  of 
painting  generally,  the  army  of  hungry  merchants  and  of  tardy  col- 
lectors fell  upon  this  man  of  genius,  not  always  strong  enough  to 
resist  their  solicitations.  Aged  now,  he  was  flattered  by  this  late- 
coming  enthusiasm.  It  did  not  displease  him  to  have  a  mounting 
tide  of  bank  notes  in  his  modest  studio  of  the  street  of  the  Petites- 
Ecuries.  This  was  his  compensation  for  the  time  when  he  would  say 
laughingly  to  one  of  his  friends  : 

"  At  last  I  have  sold  a  picture  and  I  am  sorry  for  it  :  the  collec- 
tion is  no  longer  complete  !" 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

It  was  no  love  of  gold,  however,  which  threw  COROT  into  this 
feverish  production  of  the  latter  period ;  the  great  man  lived  on  a 
little  and  gave  away  the  surplus.  Although  his  inherited  fortune,  of 
which  the  yearly  income  was  some  forty  thousand  francs,  was  des- 
tined by  his  childless  condition  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  collateral 
relatives,  COROT,  when  his  father's  death  placed  him  in  possession  of 
his  estate,  was  determined  never  to  touch  it.  What  comes  from  the 
family  ought  to  go  to  the  family,  he  would  say.  And  he  let  the 
interest  accumulate  on  the  head  of  the  principal  for  the  sake  of  his 
nephews.  "  This  money  is  not  mine,"  said  COROT.  "  I  am  only  the 
holder  till  my  death."  And  he  kept  his  word.  But  he  needed 
money,  and  a  great  deal  of  money,  for  the  works  of  charity  which 
were  become  the  grand  passion  of  his  beneficent  old  age.  All  that 
he  gained  now  by  his  painting  he  gave  away  without  counting,  in 
large  sums.  It  is  known  that  he  purchased,  one  day,  the  little  house 
in  which  DAUMIER,  the  great  neglected  artist,  had  lived  for  years  at 
Valmondois,  and  which  he  was  under  obligation  to  quit,  because  he 
could  not  buy  it.  COROT  did  not  spend  much  time  in  reflection ;  he 
went  to  Valmondois,  paid  for  the  little  property  in  ready  money,  and 
offered  it  to  his  friend ;  the  latter  simply  observed  : 

"  You  are  the  only  man  whom  I  esteem  highly  enough  to  accept  a 
thing  from  him  without  a  blush." 

Another  time  one  of  his  painter  friends  came  to  ask  him  for  five 
thousand  francs.  COROT,  that  day  in  a  bad  humour,  replied  that  he 
had  not  the  money.  But  as  soon  as  the  friend  had  gone,  he  began 
to  reflect.  He  took  off  his  blouse,  laid  down  his  pipe — that  renowned 
"  pipette  "  which  has  become  one  of  the  legends  of  the  studios — ran 
to  the  house  of  his  friend,  and  cried : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  a  perfect  knave.  I  told  you  just  now 
that  I  had  not  five  thousand  francs.  I  was  a  liar,  and  the  proof  is 
that  here  they  are  !" 

Shortly  before  his  death  he  made  a  great  sale  to  a  merchant.  As 
the  latter  was  counting  out  the  proceeds  to  COROT,  the  artist  took 
a  bundle  of  ten  notes  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  and  said  to  the 
dealer : 

"  Keep  this ;  and  when  I  am  gone  you  will  give  during  ten  years  a 
pension  of  a  thousand  francs  to  the  widow  of  my  friend  MILLET." 

16 


JEAN-BAPTISTE    COROT 

And  it  is  in  this  way  that  the  wife  of  another  immortally  grand 
artist,  dead  for  his  part  in  a  condition  of  misery,  receives  for  the  past 
eight  years  this  pension,  offered  by  a  fortunate  genius  to  a  genius  un- 
fortunate. Although  COROT  gave  by  handfuls  in  this  way,  not  only 
to  his  friends,  but  also  to  casual  solicitors,  and  though  he  never 
touched  his  patrimony,  as  I  observed,  there  was  found  in  his  desk 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs  which  the  careless  great  heart 
had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  invest.  It  was  simply  his  permanent 
charity  fund.  For  himself,  humble  as  he  always  was,  he  had  no  need 
for  much  money.  A  little  suite  of  rooms  in  the  faubourg  Poissonniere, 
the  modest  studio  on  the  fourth  floor,  sufficed  him.  His  grand  passion 
outside  of  his  art  was  music ;  on  Sundays  he  was  seen  at  the  popular 
concerts,  thoughtful  and  softened,  touched  sometimes  to  tears  when 
they  played  an  adagio  of  MOZART'S — his  favorite  master,  the  brother- 
soul  of  this  grand  artist,  who  was  himself  the  MOZART  of  painting. 
COROT,  overwhelmed  with  orders  in  his  later  days,  adopted  the  sys- 
tem followed  by  famous  physicians  for  the  payment  of  his  works ;  it 
was  less  for  one  than  another ;  he  would  give  away  for  a  trifling  price 
to  a  needy  picture  dealer ;  he  made  the  middle  class  pay  higher ;  and 
he  "  salted  "  well,  to  use  his  own  word,  the  wealthy  men  who  had 
slighted  him  so  long,  and  who  now  precipitated  themselves  on  him  in 
his  apotheosis.  But  all  this  money  melted  away  in  secret  charities ; 
he  squandered  himself  for  others. 

The  illustrious  patriarch  felt  plainly  that  this  incessant  production 
was  drawing  him  away  from  grand  art ;  and  it  was  for  that  reason 
that,  escaping  from  Paris,  he  repaired  so  often  to  his  tiny  house  at 
Ville-d'Avray  to  saturate  himself  once  more  in  nature.  There,  at  any 
rate,  it  was  against  the  rule  to  disturb  him  at  his  study.  This  retreat 
was  respected  as  a  sacred  temple,  where  COROT,  as  he  used  to  say 
sometimes,  was  reciting  his  prayer  before  the  works  of  God. 

Offended  by  long  injustice,  the  artists,  independently  of  the  official 
parties  of  the  exhibitions,  held  a  meeting  shortly  before  the  great 
man's  death,  and  with  filial  affection  offered  a  grand  gold  medal  to 
him  who  was  tenderly  named  Father  COROT.  Never  did  the  master 
appear  more  delighted  than  on  that  evening,  when,  smiling  in  his 
boundless  kindness,  he  thanked  those  whom  he  called  "  his  children." 

When  COROT  died,  his  friend  and  his  equal,  JULES  DUPRE",  could 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

utter  these  simple  words,  which  form  the  best  of  funeral  orations,  for 
they  comprise  the  whole  existence  of  COROT  : 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  fill  the  place  of  the  painter ;  it  will  be  impossi- 
ble to  fill  the  place  of  the  man." 

An  artist's  character  is  always  reflected  in  his  works.  That  which 
transpires  through  the  keynote  of  inimitable  skill  is  the  tenderness  of 
the  man  to  whatever  touches  his  soul.  We  live  with  the  painter  in 
his  scenery ;  we  breathe  his  poetry,  gentle  and  simple  as  the  song  of 
the  people ;  we  rejoice  in  the  enchantment  he  feels,  and  which  fills  his 
whole  work  with  the  happy  temperament  of  the  painter,  happy  to  be 
alive  and  to  smell  the  field-scents  that  seem  to  envelope  the  land- 
scape and  possess  all  who  contemplate  his  canvas.  Only  the  art 
which  evokes  such  sensations  is  great  art ;  the  rest  is  but  cleverness 
and  legerdemain.  When  a  man  does  not  himself  think — when  he  does 
not  put  his  whole  soul  in  the  panel  he  paints — when  we  cannot  read 
through  his  work  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  he  may  produce  paintings, 
but  art — never  ! 


18 


Jean-Francois  Millet 

>N  evening  of  autumn  in  an  indigent  peasant's  cabin; 
the  poorly  clothed  children,  shivering  with  cold,  return 
from  school ;  others,  mere  infants,  cast  an  apprehensive 
look  into  the  eating-room  and  ask  why  the  table  is  not 
set.  The  mother  regards  them  affectionately ;  her  eyes 
seem  to  interrogate  the  husband  on  his  entrance ;  and  he  falls  despair- 
ingly into  the  rude  wooden  armchair  and  rests  his  head  upon  his  hands. 
To-day  there  is  nothing  to  eat  in  the  humble  home  at  Barbizon,  in 
the  pretty  village  of  the  Fontainebleau  forest.  The  children,  saddened 
by  the  silence  of  their  parents,  cling  around  them  ;  they  feel  that  some 
great  trouble  hovers  over  the  house.  The  night  comes  on  little  by 
little,  and  this  lamentable  family  picture  is  plunged  in  darkness. 
From  time  to  time  the  damp  wood  flames  up  an  instant  and  reveals 
the  discouraging  group  with  a  hasty  glare,  quickly  extinguished.  The 
inhabitants  of  this  home  are  in  need  of  everything.  The  baker  has 
stopped  his  credit.  If  the  family  friend  who  went  yesterday  to  Paris 
does  not  return  before  an  hour  is  out  the  poor  people  must  go  to  bed 
without  having  eaten.  They  count  the  minutes.  Nothing  comes. 

Suddenly  the  father  rises  ;  he  has  heard  the  stumping  of  a  wooden 
leg  on  the  hard  ground.  It  is  he !  The  door  opens.  "  Give  us  some 
light ! "  cries  a  strong  voice.  From  this  peremptory  tone  they  per- 
ceive that  the  friend  brings  good  news.  Just  now  this  distressed  family 
were  afraid  to  look  at  each  other ;  now  hope  springs  up  again  ;  the 
tallow  candle  in  the  old  candlestick  of  tin  is  ignited ;  in  the  doorway 
is  seen  the  outline  of  a  man  of  tall  stature,  who,  with  an  echoing  peal 
of  laughter,  shows  an  enormous  loaf,  which  he  throws  on  the  table, 
crying,  "  Come,  children,  come  to  supper ! "  This  savior  is  DIAZ. 

19 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

At  Paris  he  has  sold,  for  sixty  francs,  three  drawings  of  his  friend 
MILLET,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day  when  gold  was  not  so 
common,  he  has  been  paid  in  big  silver  five-franc  pieces ;  he  has 
changed  one  of  them  in  passing  the  baker's,  to  attend  first  to  the 
needful;  he  draws  out  the  other  eleven  pieces,  one  after  one,  from  the 
pocket  of  his  velveteen  trousers  ;  makes  them  shine  in  the  light  of  the 
tallow  candle  and  form  a  fine  silver  wreath  all  around  the  loaf.  The 
delighted  children,  wondering  at  the  treasure,  have  come  up  to  the 
table  and  open  their  eyes  wide  with  astonishment  and  delight.  The 
mother  thanks  DIAZ  with  a  glance ;  she  finds  no  word  fit  to  express 
her  gratitude.  The  father  has  seized  his  friend's  hand  and  presses  it 
feelingly.  And  now  everybody  is  set  to  work ;  the  fire  is  stirred ;  now 
the  boiling  water  hisses  in  the  pot,  and  some  potatoes,  some  pork-fat, 
some  cabbages,  are  found  to  throw  into  it  along  with  the  crusts.  The 
fumes  of  this  feast  mount  through  the  house  and  fly  to  the  heads  of 
the  poor  hungry  ones,  and  soon  the  family  is  united  around  the  white 
deal  table.  MILLET  alone  is  thoughtful,  for  he  has  to  think  of  the 
morrow.  But  DIAZ  encourages  him  ;  his  eyes  shine  brightly,  he  gives 
enormous  thumps  on  the  floor  with  his  wooden  leg,  and  cries  : 

"  Patience !  They  will  come  to  it  gradually !  ROUSSEAU  has 
sold  a  landscape  for  five  hundred  francs  ;  for  my  part,  I  have  sold  a 
view  of  Fontainebleau  for  seventy-five  francs.  And  I  am  com- 
missioned to  ask  you  for  companion  sketches  to  your  drawings.  And 
this  time,  instead  of  twenty  francs,  they  are  to  pay  you  twenty-five  !" 

To  which  MILLET  replies  resignedly  : 

"  If  I  could  only  sell  two  drawings  a  week  at  that  price  all  would 
go  right !" 

And  DIAZ,  blowing  the  smoke  thick  from  his  pipe  and  making 
rings  to  amuse  the  children,  says  : 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  Fifty  francs  a  week !  Go  to,  you 
financier !" 

The  man  whom  DIAZ  facetiously  called  financier  to  recall  him 
from  his  visions  of  gold  and  bind  him  to  the  reality  of  things  below 
was  JEAN-FRANCOIS  MILLET — that  is  to  say,  one  of  the  greatest 
artists  of  this  century.  Born  at  GreVille  in  1815,  he  came  to  Paris 
and  got  himself  entered  in  the  studio  of  PAUL  DELAROCHE.  In  the 
midst  of  the  young  men  who  pursued  their  studies  with  the  painter, 


JEAN-FRANCOIS   MILLET 

MILLET  made  himself  conspicuous  by  an  austerity  which  was  irt 
singular  contrast  with  his  years.  It  was  because  he  was  always  con- 
trasting the  style  he  was  being  taught  with  the  style  he  glimpsed  in 
his  own  brain.  No  doubt  it  was  well  to  learn  anatomy  and  study  the 
structure  of  man ;  but  when  this  was  done,  it  was  not  the  thing  to 
pass  one's  life  in  painting  after  models  in  theatrical  dresses  and  in 
affected  postures ;  rather  seize  man  in  his  life,  in  his  ordinary  sur- 
roundings, in  his  toil.  Those  peasants  of  light  opera  especially, 
shown  in  paintings,  those  peasants  in  Sunday  rig,  with  clothes  fresh 
from  the  costumer,  irritated  him.  MILLET  had  always  liked  the 
country ;  he  betook  himself  to  the  village  of  Barbizon,  which  he  was 
doomed  never  to  quit ;  he  wished  to  live  among  the  peasants.  Far 
from  Paris,  in  this  unknown  village,  living  was  cheap ;  and  the  less 
he  had  to  think  of  the  money  question  the  more  time  he  could  devote 
to  the  study  of  art.  In  this  insulation  of  his  mind,  in  this  perpetual 
contemplation  of  the  peasant  in  his  own  medium,  the  genius  of 
MILLET  ripened,  notwithstanding  the  cares  and  privation  of  every 
day.  This  art  proceeds,  we  may  say,  from  the  very  entrails  of 
MILLET  ;  he  bears  upon  no  predecessor ;  it  has  nature  for  its  foun- 
tain, and  for  nursing  father  the  rope-mind  of  the  painter. 

His  family  increased  around  MILLET  ;  numerous  children  sur- 
rounded the  grand  artist,  and  their  needs  became  more  pressing. 
However  humble  was  the  course  of  living  to  which  MILLET  and  his 
flock  resigned  themselves,  it  was  impossible  always  to  face  the  modest 
expense.  The  public,  accustomed  to  the  pretty  peasant  scenes  in 
vogue,  asked  where  these  earth-covered  laborers  came  from,  and 
these  rough  countrymen  with  their  trouble-crushed  expressions  and 
callous  hands.  Such  demonstrations  of  country  poverty  made  a  sorry 
effect  in  the  houses  of  the  rich,  who  hung  their  walls  with  painting  for 
a  diversion ;  the  style  of  MILLET  rebuked  their  well-being,  and  it 
was  rejected.  Whence  came  this  melancholy  art,  lacking  in  superfi- 
cial attraction  !  It  was  not  at  all  cheerful,  not  at  all  pleasant.  Only  a 
few  refined  spirits  comprehended  him,  but  most  generally  it  was  some 
modest  collector,  or  a  keen  speculator  who  bethought  himself  that  at 
the  present  price  of  MILLET'S  works  one  risked  no  great  matter.  It 
was  in  this  way  that  a  little  masterpiece,  the  first  thought  of  the 
Gleaners,  which  is  now  worth  sixty  thousand  francs,  was  sold  by 

31 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

MILLET  for  twelve  pieces  of  one  hundred  sous.  It  was  an  enormous 
sum  for  this  innocent  man,  for  it  represented  bread  for  twelve  days ; 
in  other  words,  nearly  two  weeks  of  independence  for  this  genius, 
contented  in  his  patriarchal  existence.  Provided  that  after  the  day's 
labor  he  had  at  evening  the  soup  of  the  peasant  with  a  bit  of  hard 
bread  and  the  cool  water  from  the  spring,  the  rest  was  of  little  con- 
sequence. At  night,  when  the  children  were  put  to  bed,  the  great 
artist  would  read  the  Bible  by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  not  so  much  from 
devotion  as  to  fortify  and  guarantee  himself  by  the  example  of  the 
simple-living  patriarchs ;  often  his  friend  and  neighbor,  THEODORE 
ROUSSEAU,  came  to  sit  facing  him  ;  then  these  two  neglected  ones 
would  take  their  mutual  revenge  for  the  disdain  of  the  age,  and  draw 
the  strength  for  to-morrow's  struggle  out  of  a  common  enthusiasm  for 
art.  Thirty  years  of  self-denial,  resignation  and  daily  discouragement 
were  needed  before  the  painter  could  at  length  make  his  mark ;  and 
as  it  was  fated  that  he  should  be  the  martyr  of  art  to  the  very  end, 
sickness  seized  upon  him  in  the  hour  when  he  at  length  attained  his 
aim,  plunging  him  in  the  grave  just  when  renown  attached  itself  finally 
to  his  talent. 

There  is  no  more  touching  story  than  that  of  this  great  artist,  who 
passed  his  life  in  poverty  and  loneliness.  The  canvases  which  now 
form  the  glory  of  French  art  passed  unnoticed  at  the  official  Salons, 
disdained  by  the  juries ;  the  juries  exclusively  picked  out  of  the  Insti- 
tute, which  was  omnipotent  at  that  period,  and  which,  though  since 
somewhat  transformed,  was  then  in  the  systematic  habit  of  rejecting 
the  fine  and  living  works  which  lift  so  high  the  art  of  France. 
MILLET'S  paintings,  at  first  rejected,  were  afterwards  admitted  at  the 
Salons,  but  with  no  success  ;  the  artist  was  reproached  for  creating 
ugliness — that  is  to  say,  for  not  painting  the  conventional  peasantry 
harmoniously  shaped  and  garnished  with  all  the  graces.  MILLET 
saw  the  peasant  as  a  being  with  round  shoulders  and  hollow  chest, 
from  the  habit  of  stooping  over  the  ground;  with  face  and  arms 
baked  in  the  sun  and  tanned  by  the  wind.  In  those  deathless  master- 
pieces of  his  the  peasant  appears  in  the  majestic  verity  of  the  human 
creature  wrestling  with  the  earth,  which  he  impregnates  and  makes 
to  live.  But  there  came  no  awards  from  the  Salon,  no  pay,  no  sort 
of  encouragement,  with  the  exception  of  the  bravos  of  certain  youth- 


JEAN-FRANCOIS  MILLET 

ful  artists  and  the  applause  of  some  rare  art  critics,  who  gradually 
rallied  to  the  side  of  this  original  genius.  Through  every  kind  of 
neglect  MILLET  pursued  his  road,  with  head  high  and  ironical  lip. 
He  had  on  his  side  the  approbation  of  those  whom  he  esteemed  the 
most — DELACROIX,  ROUSSEAU,  DUPRE\  COROT,  DIAZ  and  of  that 
other  great  artist  so  long  overlooked,  BARYE.  The  common  struggle 
had  established  something  like  a  brotherhood  of  arms  among  all  these 
pioneers.  The  little  group  marched  hand  in  hand  against  superior 
numbers — the  whole  sleek  mediocrity  of  art — as  a  handful  of  heroes 
marches  to  fight  a  numerous  army,  with  the  determination  to  conquer 
or  die.  Of  all  those  fine  artists  MILLET  alone  was  not  to  know  suc- 
cess. His  destiny  was  cruel  to  the  end  ;  he  fell  mortally  wounded  in 
the  combat,  at  the  hour  of  the  others'  triumph.  When,  finally,  after 
such  tedious  struggles  and  such  sickening  toil,  his  art  began  to  be 
talked  of,  the  painter,  struck  down  by  sickness,  had  lost  his  strength 
and  energy.  We  may  say  of  MILLET  that  he  died  of  his  genius, 
conquered  before  his  time,  fallen  to  earth  at  the  moment  when  age 
was  only  just  foreseen,  an  age  that  would  have  been  gentle  and  happy ; 
and  that  he  left  to  posterity,  which  restores  the  balance  of  all  things, 
the  care  of  keeping  his  name  as  that  of  one  of  the  greatest  in  French 
art. 

In  the  exhibition  of  the  Hundred  Masterpieces  the  genius  of 
MILLET  burst  forth  still  more  powerfully  than  in  the  past.  Three  of 
his  canvases,  especially,  represented  the  whole  career  of  the  artist ; 
three  absolute  masterpieces,  the  Gleaners,  the  Sheepfold  by  Moon- 
light, the  Man  Hoeing  ;  all  three  give  birth  to  the  same  surprise.  It 
is  that  the  figures,  in  their  small  dimensions,  assume  under  the  eye 
that  contemplates  them  the  scale  of  nature.  This  mirage  is  ex- 
plained by  the  grandeur  of  this  art  springing  from  nature  itself  and 
drawing  you  to  nature  with  all  her  force.  The  eye  sees  the  thing  in 
the  dimensions  which  it  actually  has ;  and  it  is  thus  that  it  stamps 
itself  on  the  memory.  A  great  artist  is  able  to  reduce  proportions 
without  belittling  the  majesty  of  things. 

That  is  what  happens  with  the  Angelus,  for  instance.  When  we 
regard  this  grand  masterpiece,  which  shows  in  all  simplicity  the  man 
and  the  woman  who  clasp  their  hands  in  prayer  as  they  hear  the 
sound  of  the  chimes  through  the  loneliness  of  the  fields,  these  two 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

peasants  seem  to  grow  under  the  eyes  of  the  spectator ;  they  take  the 
proportions  of  nature ;  the  landscape  spreads  and  becomes  illimit- 
able ;  the  glowing  sky  has  a  mysterious  breadth  ;  as  long  as  we  abide 
in  the  charm  we  feel  this  illusion. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  Man  Hoeing,  one  of  the  masterworks  of 
MILLET.  The  peasant  is  there,  leaning  on  his  hoe,  panting  in  an 
instant's  surcease  of  toil  that  crushes.  He  leans  forward,  like  a  being 
whose  will  revolts  against  the  triumph  of  the  besieging  weariness. 
The  action  is  so  keenly  taken,  the  forms  are  drawn  in  such  living 
lines,  the  drama  of  humility  wrestling  with  the  earth  is  so  powerfully 
indicated,  that  the  peasant  assumes  the  natural  proportions  under  the 
spectator's  eye.  We  suffer  with  his  toil ;  we  are,  like  himself,  over- 
come with  the  superfluity  of  travail  laid  upon  mankind  ;  he  lives,  and 
we  live  with  him  ;  the  field  he  tills  spreads  away  out  of  eyesight ;  we 
no  longer  think  of  a  picture,  so  entirely  does  the  truth  of  art  carry  us 
to  nature  itself.  It  is  just  so  that  we  have  all  of  us  seen  the  laborer 
bent  over  the  soil,  and  before  the  reality  we  have  felt  the  same 
respect  and  the  same  pity  going  out  from  us  towards  the  simple, 
resigned  being,  whose  chest  bursts  with  the  sob  of  a  blacksmith's 
bellows,  which  we  can  hear  in  the  solitude  like  an  unconscious  out- 
cry of  humility  against  destiny.  The  painter  who  knows  how  to 
invest  so  much  thinking  in  one  sole  figure,  who  succeeds  in  stirring 
the  soul  with  this  simple  rustic  situation,  is  a  grand  master,  believe 
me.  In  none  of  his  works  has  MILLET  been  more  simply  powerful. 
I  only  know  of  one  design  where  he  has  put  such  a  poignant  drama 
into  a  single  figure — I  mean  the  Vine  Dresser.  He  is  seated  on  a 
hillock,  worn  out,  bruised  by  fatigue,  breathing  hard,  with  the  dread- 
ful look  of  a  being  so  stupefied  by  savage  labor  that  he  no  longer 
thinks  of  anything  ;  his  head  sinks ;  his  arms  fall,  overcome,  down  his 
sides ;  the  hands  hang  inert ;  there  is  no  will  left  in  this  figure,  stupid 
after  expending  the  last  of  his  physical  forces.  None  better  than 
MILLET  could  comprehend  and  render  this  struggle  of  man  against 
his  work ;  he,  the  great  victim,  whose  entire  life  was  the  fight  of  each 
day  for  the  daily  bread ;  how  many  a  time  himself,  panting,  worn  out 
broken  and  discouraged,  he  had  sat  down  by  the  wayside  ! 

All  these  fine  productions  only  rallied  to  the  side  of  the  painter  the 
more  enthusiastic  among  the  young.  The  official  juries  of  the  Salon 


JEAN-FRANCOIS   MILLET 

passed  unheeding  before  this  new  force,  and  kept  their  kindness  for 
the  affectations  of  comic  opera  peasant  girls.  They  were  still  under 
the  controlling  spell  of  the  Italian  peasant  of  LEOPOLD  ROBERT  ;  his 
elegant  harvesters,  with  their  select  postures,  grouping  themselves  in 
tableaux  vivants,  and  composed  with  plenty  of  good  taste ;  dressed, 
too,  in  polychrome  costume  on  which  the  delving  of  the  earth  had  left 
never  a  trace.  It  was  in  the  full  bloom  of  that  commanding  style 
that  MILLET  came  forward  with  his  veritable  peasantry,  in  their  ener- 
getic attitudes,  and  with  their  clothes  that  little  by  little  had  taken  the 
earth  color,  so  completely  had  man  assimilated  himself  with  the  soil. 
This  lacks  poetry,  people  said ;  in  other  words,  this  lacked  falsehood. 
There  was  no  arrangement  for  dazzling  the  eye  ;  in  this  style  every- 
thing addressed  itself  to  the  thought.  It  was  not  on  the  surface  of 
the  canvas  that  the  poetry  lay  ;  it  was  in  the  essence  of  those  creations. 
MILLET  was  a  grand  primitive  bard  issuing  from  solitude  and  con- 
templation like  the  old  poets  sprung  from  the  heart  of  the  people,  of 
whom  the  names  have  disappeared,  but  whose  works  have  remained 
as  imperishable  manifestations  of  the  human  soul. 

This  poetic  originality  varied  with  the  subject.  If  it  terrified  in  the 
Man  Hoeing,  it  took  a  gentle  aspect  in  the  Gleaners.  The  harvest  is 
gathered ;  the  farmer  reckons  the  stacks  which  his  laborers  form  under 
the  limpid  and  cheerful  sunshine.  Earth  has  been  generous  to  such 
a  point  that  even  the  unhappy  can  claim  their  share.  Poor  women  are 
gleaning  the  scattered  stalks.  They  gather  the  alms  of  the  fields, 
with  movements  full  of  truth  and  grace  ;  the  light  is  kind  to  all,  to  the 
farmer  as  to  the  humble,  to  each  in  the  proportion  that  destiny  has 
allotted  him ;  all  are  happy  in  the  measure  of  their  ambitions.  The 
artist,  too,  maintains  his  work  in  a  contented  keynote ;  here  the 
poetry  of  MILLET  relents ;  the  sun  is  not  only  spread  over  the  land- 
scape, but  its  rays  penetrate  into  the  soul,  and  warm  for  an  instant 
the  heart  chilled  with  poverty. 

The  Sheep/old  is  another  masterpiece.  The  mist  wraps  the  whole 
scene ;  the  shepherd  is  enveloped  in  his  cloak,  and  drives  into  the  en- 
closure his  flock  of  sheep,  who  huddle  together  under  the  keenness  of 
the  night ;  the  moon  lights  up  the  scene  with  its  pale  and  undecided 
radiance ;  further  than  eye  can  see,  a  silence  hangs  over  the  fields. 
This  canvas  is  only  some  twenty  inches  wide,  and  it  produces  the 

25 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

effect  of  a  work  of  vastest  proportions ;  poetry  penetrates,  solitude 
invades  the  fancy  so  completely  that  we  think  no  more  of  the  size  of 
the  picture.  It  becomes  immense,  like  nature. 

Little  by  little,  from  the  habit  of  identifying  himself  with  the  men 
of  the  fields,  MILLET  had  himself  become  a  peasant.  Tall  in  stat- 
ure, with  powerful  shoulders,  with  a  face  sunbrowned  but  full  of 
character,  dressed  in  poor  clothes  and  with  wooden  shoes  on  his  feet, 
he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  ploughman.  In  the  peasants  of  his 
works  we  find  again  the  artist  himself;  he  claimed  to  have  got  into 
his  painting  that  which  he  called  the  cry  of  the  earth,  and  the  "  ugh  !" 
of  the  digger  whose  chest  was  crushed  between  his  strokes.  We 
might  say,  too,  that  MILLET  got  into  his  painting  the  cry  of  art,  and 
the  sob  of  the  grand  painter  condemned  to  live  in  privation. 

Notwithstanding,  before  his  death  MILLET  could  see  advancing 
towards  him  the  step  of  justice,  the  never-dying,  the  eternal  laggard. 
When  for  the  first  time,  at  the  Exposition  of  1867,  the  public  saw  a 
number  of  his  works  brought  together  in  one  spot,  they  were  struck 
by  the  variety  of  that  art  which  till  then  had  been  called  monotonous. 
A  first-class  medal  was  deigned  to  be  thrown  to  this  grand  genius, 
who,  since  the  Salon  of  1853,  had  not  carried  off  any  prize ;  there  was 
even  added,  to  do  honor  to  the  order,  rather  than  the  recipient,  the 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  which,  after  thirty  years  of  noblest 
toil,  was  to  be  the  consolation  of  this  illustrious  man,  a  martyr  to 
every  kind  of  affliction.  When  MILLET  died,  at  sixty  years,  in  that 
village  of  Barbizon  where  all  his  humble  and  resigned  existence  was 
passed,  the  Government  manifested  some  shame  at  having  left  the 
illustrious  artist  so  long  in  abandonment.  It  offered  his  widow  a 
small  pension.  It  is  not  seemly  to  insist  too  much  on  the  poor  ques- 
tion of  money  when  we  count  up  the  labors  of  a  man  who  set  disdain- 
fully aside  the  considerations  of  success  to  be  able  to  live  only  in  his 
art. 

One  day,  while  talking  with  me  of  the  period  of  poverty  which 
the  artists  of  his  generation  had  passed  through,  ROUSSEAU  said : 

"  We  were  always  without  a  sou,  but  we  never  spoke  of  money, 
for  money  counted  for  nothing  in  our  ambition." 

When  we  speak  of  MILLET  it  is  more  seemly,  again,  to  touch 
lightly  on  the  question  of  prices,  which  prove  nothing.  The  Man 

26 


JEAN-FRANCOIS   MILLET 

Hoeing,  which  represents  a  fortune,  is  no  greater  a  work  to-day  than 
at  the  period  when  the  great  artist  sold  it  for  two  thousand  francs. 
The  years  of  wretchedness  which  MILLET  passed  through  will 
be  redeemed  by  the  centuries  of  imperishable  glory  which  await 
his  name  in  the  future.  The  humble  thatched  cottage  of  Barbizon, 
where  the  life  of  MILLET  flowed  along,  pertains  to  history  more  than 
the  rich  mansion  of  a  fortunate  man  in  easy  circumstances,  where 
the  stone  stands  generally  unhallowed  and  unspeaking,  without  a  rec- 
ollection of  the  being  whose  life  has  slipped  through  it. 


Jules  Dupr6 


URING  the  first  quarter  of  the  century  there  was  at  Par- 
main,  on  the  banks  of  the  Oise,  a  small  porcelain 
factory,  conducted  by  a  manufacturer  of  ability,  M. 
DUPR£;  the  principal  porcelain  painter  of  the  atelier 
was  a  child  of  twelve  years.  He  had  been  taught  to 
read  and  write,  after  which  he  was  harnessed  to  the  paternal  trade. 
Sixty  years  have  since  rolled  by ;  the  child  is  now  a  robust  old  man. 
During  all  his  long  life,  JULES  DUPR£  has  no  sooner  quitted  the 
banks  of  the  Oise  than  he  has  tried  to  get  back  there  again  with 
greater  and  greater  attraction.  In  the  vicinity  of  Parmain,  where  of 
old  the  little  boy  bent  over  his  dishes,  the  great  artist  is  now  always 
found  working,  in  the  consummation  of  his  career.  The  illustrious 
landscape  painter  is  only  separated  from  the  village  which  was  his 
artistic  cradle  by  the  current  of  the  Oise.  The  prospect  from  his 
windows  is  a  mass  of  souvenirs;  every  hour  the  enthusiasms  of 
adolescence  return  to  the  soul  of  the  master-painter,  and  pay  in 
their  account  of  the  courageous  and  honest  impulses  derived  from  his 
earliest  years.  The  house  at  I'  Isle-Adam  is  but  a  modest,  or  at  best 
a  comfortable  one,  with  middle-class  conveniences,  but  no  tinsel ;  the 
great  ornament  of  the  property  is  the  name  of  the  owner.  Every- 
thing is  arranged  in  this  refuge  of  a  great  artist  to  facilitate  home-life, 
work  and  rest.  No  noise  of  the  street  disturbs  the  painter  at  his  in- 
cessant labor.  The  family,  tender  and  attentive  to  his  slightest  wish, 
waits  to  gather  round  him  at  his  hours  of  rest ;  often  a  friend  comes 
to  sit  at  his  hospitable  board,  and  then,  when  JULES  DUPR£  has 
lighted  his  pipe,  there  is  familiar  conversation  ;  or,  rather,  the  master 

aS 


JULES  DUPRE" 

talks  and  the  rest  listen,  for  the  whole  interest  centres  in  his  recollec- 
tions. It  is  the  glorious  names  of  the  men  of  1830,  as  they  are  called, 
which  form  the  capital  of  the  talk.  The  lively  intelligence  of  the  old 
artist  seems  to  grow  boyish  again  in  the  sparkle  of  these  confidences, 
and  then  we  see  the  whole  procession — DELACROIX,  ROUSSEAU, 
DIAZ,  COROT,  BARYE,  MILLET,  DECAMPS  and  TROYON  ;  that  is  as 
much  as  to  say,  the  quintessence  of  the  artistic  glory  of  our  century. 
Now,  during  the  recital  of  the  hard  commencement,  DUPR£'S  singu- 
larly intense  blue  eye  fires  up  with  the  light  of  battle  ;  now,  the  voice 
softens,  and  his  thoughts  seem  to  float  off  in  a  gentle  melancholy 
towards  the  impenetrable  mystery  whither  his  friends  have  preceded 
this  last  survivor  of  the  proud  pleiad  of  1830.  On  the  walls  hang  a 
a  few  souvenirs  of  these  noble  friends,  especially,  among  others,  the 
magnificent  drawings  of  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU,  and  a  superb  canvas 
by  COROT,  bought  by  DUPR£  out  of  his  savings,  and  from  which  he 
has  never  been  willing  to  part,  though  in  receipt  of  offers  of  fifty 
thousand  francs.  But  not  only  is  JULES  DUPRE1  the  last  survivor  of 
the  illustrious  group,  he  was  its  precursor.  He  indicated  first  in 
modern  art  the  return  to  the  eternal  source  of  nature.  His  admira- 
tion for  these  lost  comrades  is  so  sincere  that  he  will  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  called  their  chief;  before  posterity  they  form  his  equals, 
but  in  the  past  it  was  he  who  showed  the  way. 

How  has  this  humble  porcelain  painter  arrived  at  the  position  of 
an  important  master  without  having  ever  been  the  pupil  of  any  one  ? 
How  was  the  ambition  born  in  that  young,  infantine  brain  of  twelve 
years  to  bear  back  landscape  art  to  the  magnificences  of  a  CLAUDE 
LORRAIN,  of  a  RUYSDAEL,  of  a  HOBBEMA,  before  hearing  these 
names  pronounced  and  without  acquaintance  with  a  single  one  of 
their  works  ?  It  was  in  the  contemplation  of  nature,  in  his  isolation 
amidst  her  influences,  that  the  mind  of  the  lad  was  open  to  her  beauty, 
and  that  her  mystery  was  sounded  by  his  thought.  In  his  hours  of 
freedom  the  boy  used  to  wander  over  the  fields  with  sketch-book  and 
pencil.  No  professor  interposed  himself  between  this  talent  in  its  birth 
and  what  it  portrayed  to  dictate  any  narrow  formula.  What  he  was 
ignorant  of  he  asked  but  of  her ;  what  he  learned  was  from  her 
teaching.  At  eighteen,  the  little  china  painter  had  become  a  young 
master.  The  crayon  studies  which  the  great  artist  to-day  pre- 
29 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

serves  from  his  early  years  are  so  many  surprises ;  for  they  bear 
witness  to  a  comprehension  of  nature  unique  for  so  young  a  man.  In 
his  odd  hours,  to  add  to  his  resources,  he  turned  out  for  a  friend  of 
the  family  a  series  of  clock  faces,  automata  in  which,  by  means  of 
springs  connected  with  the  movement,  a  sailboat  would  shoot  the 
arch  of  a  bridge  or  a  hermit  ring  his  bell  from  hour  to  hour.  From 
these  low  beginnings  emerged  our  grand  artist,  solely  by  the  influence 
of  nature. 

The  art  of  landscape  painting  was  at  that  time  lost  in  France.  It 
was  despised  as  a  thing  of  subaltern  rank ;  and  this  prejudice,  not- 
withstanding the  glory  which  the  French  school  derives  from  its 
illustrious  landscape  painters  of  the  present  century,  continues  still 
in  the  circles  of  official  teaching  to  such  a  point  that  none  of  the 
glorious  French  landscape  artists  has  been  awarded  the  Salon  medal 
of  honor.  True,  they  have  given  it  themselves  with  their  own  hands 
in  the  sight  of  posterity  by  their  -proud,  fine,  lasting  performance. 
What  added  still  more  to  the  contempt  felt  for  landscape  under  the 
Restoration  was  that  it  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  pigmies. 
When  these  subalterns  were  not  occupied  in  servilely  carrying  on  the 
style  of  POUSSIN,  whom  they  quietly  imitated  as  if  that  painter  had 
not  himself  borne  his  own  style  to  its  conclusion,  they  pieced  out 
pictures  from  fragments  of  their  own  sketches,  as  a  harlequin 
costume  is  made  with  rags  of  every  color.  In  summer  they  went  off 
for  a  booty  of  sketches,  and  in  winter  they  stitched  these  studies 
together,  and  made  of  them  compositions  stuffed  with  broken  stumps 
of  trees,  burst  arches  of  bridges,  waterfalls  and  precipices.  From 
top  to  bottom  the  canvas  was  piled  with  motivi ;  it  was  like  a  card  of 
patterns  of  everything  that  the  artist  was  able  to  collect  on  a  canvas, 
but  where  there  lacked  all  emotion  in  the  presence  of  nature — a 
matter  which  some  of  the  painters  had  never  felt,  and  which  the 
others  spilled  on  the  road  in  passing  from  the  country  whence  they 
fetched  their  sketches  to  the  city  where  they  made  them  into  pictures. 
The  young  DUPR£  said  to  himself,  very  justly,  that  since  a  painter 
would  be  nearer  to  accuracy  in  carrying  out  his  work  in  the  presence 
of  the  scene,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  produce  pictures  entirely 
copied  from  nature,  in  order  that  they  might  catch  the  stamp  of 
feeling  and  sincerity.  The  day  when  he  hit  upon  this  profession  of 

3° 


JULES  DUPRtf 

faith,  JULES  DUPRE"  indicated  for  the  French  school  the  road  to 
follow ;  he  was  the  pathfinder  of  modern  art,  as  he  is  now  its  illus- 
trious, respected  veteran. 

Upon  this,  to  the  vast  astonishment  of  the  painters,  the  first  pro- 
duction of  DuPRlS  emerged,  entirely  done  from  nature.  This  style 
not  only  spoke  to  the  eye,  as  did  the  composition  pictures  of  the 
period,  but  it  spoke  also  to  the  soul ;  it  carried  within  it  the  feeling  that 
the  artist  had  undergone,  his  thoughtfulness  in  the  presence  of  the 
splendors  of  creation,  with  his  individual  way  of  being  moved  by  them 
and  expressing  them.  The  more  celebrated  canvases  of  this  great 
artist  have  accordingly  been  direct  transcripts  upon  the  cloth  actually 
used  ;  and  thus  the  painted  forest  grew  out  of  the  incessant  contem- 
plation of  the  natural  foliage,  the  pasture  kept  its  dew,  the  sky  its 
transparence  or  the  true  movement  of  its  clouds.  This  put  an  end 
to  the  former  old-fashioned  style,  where  the  painter,  between  the  four 
walls  of  the  studio,  could  make  no  comparison  between  his  work  and 
nature ;  whereas  with  these  pictures  the  artist,  confronted  with  the 
reality,  and  incessantly  directed  to  the  very  source  of  his  work,  could 
get  astray  no  more  among  the  jugglery  of  conventional  examples. 
The  Pasture  on  the  edge  of  a  forest,  which  reappeared  after  forty 
years  at  the  exhibition  of  the  Hundred  Masterpieces,  fresh  as  on  its 
first  day,  radiant  with  light,  with  its  limpid  waters  and  its  forest 
solidly  planted  into  the  ground,  had  an  enthusiastic  reception  ;  all 
those  long  years  had  passed  over  the  masterwork  without  tarnishing 
its  freshness  and  its  impressiveness.  One  was  ready  to  say  that  this 
kind  of  painting  was  able  to  renew  itself  from  spring  to  spring,  during 
a  half  century,  even  as  nature's  self. 

I  should  like  to  estimate,  in  some  few  words,  uttered  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  precursor  of  the  modern  landscape-painting  school,  the 
veritable  tendency  of  that  school.  It  is  not  a  vulgar  realism  which 
carries  it  so  high ;  it  is  the  marriage  of  verity  with  emotion,  the  strict 
union  between  what  the  eye  contemplates  and  what  the  heart  is  feel- 
ing. The  soul  of  the  painter  will  vibrate  in  the  canvas  with  so  much 
more  authority  in  proportion  as  it  submits  to  the  direct  shock  of 
nature.  The  landscape  that  leaves  an  imperishable  trace  in  our 
memory  does  so  not  only  because  our  eye  has  measured  it,  but  from 
the  emotion  which  it  has  communicated  to  us.  There  is  not  a  reader 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

but  can  put  it  to  the  test  out  of  his  own  recollections.  Let  him  trans- 
port himself  in  fancy  to  the  period  when  for  the  first  time  he  felt  all 
the  charm  of  some  prospect,  and  just  so  quickly  will  he  perceive  a  re- 
newal of  the  sensation  he  then  experienced ;  there  is  a  memory  of  the 
heart,  as  of  the  eye.  Realism  in  art  is  not  to  be  held,  then,  as  merely 
the  accurate  rendering  of  a  scene,  but  as  that  gift,  reserved  alone  to 
the  higher  order  of  intelligences,  which  transmits  to  the  canvas  the 
vibrations  of  our  life  in  presence  of  the  realities  of  things.  JULES 
DUPR£,  I  repeat,  was  the  first  who  marked  out  the  direct  return  of 
art  towards  the  real,  and  it  was  a  triumphant  surprise  when  the  Salon 
exhibited  his  first  works,  entirely  painted  after  nature.  However, 
the  taste  for  painting  did  not  obtain  then  as  it  does  in  our  day. 
Picture  commerce  did  not  exist.  A  few  merchants  certainly  pur- 
chased canvases,  but  it  was  to  hire  them  by  the  month  to  young  ladies 
who  copied  them.  Princes  and  the  Government  excepted,  there  were 
not  half  a  dozen  picture  collectors  in  Paris.  It  was  the  DUKE  DE 
NEMOURS  who  bought  the  first  picture  sent  to  the  Salon  by  JULES 
DUPR£.  The  sale  made  a  great  noise ;  this  son  of  a  king  paid  twelve 
hundred  francs  for  the  work  ;  for  the  young  painter  it  was  substan- 
tially the  assurance  of  fortune,  and  at  the  same  time  the  official  con- 
secration of  a  career.  The  revolution  of  February  sent  the  duke  into 
exile.  The  third  republic  gave  him  his  country  again.  Among  the 
first  visitors  who  came  to  present  their  respects  to  the  duke  on  his 
return  to  France  was  JULES  DUPRIS.  The  prince  and  the  painter 
looked  at  each  other  for  some  moments,  to  measure  the  time  passed 
since  their  separation  by  each  other's  wrinkled  foreheads  and  whitened 
hairs. 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  the  artist,  with  emotion,  "  I  can  never  forget 
that  my  first  encouragement  came  from  your  royal  highness." 

"I  still  keep  your  picture,"  answered  the  prince,  "let  us  come  and 
see  it." 

The  canvas  was  in  fact  found  in  the  duchess'  salon.  In  this 
room  the  duke,  taking  the  artist's  arm,  said : 

"  Your  art  is  happier  than  either  of  us,  for  it  has  not  grown  old." 

The  duke  had  truly  spoken.  It  is  the  work  that  leans  directly  on 
nature  which  can  outlast  the  fashions.  The  revolution  of  February 
plunged  the  artist  again  into  oblivion,  just  as  his  future  opened  smiling 

32 


JULES  DUPR£ 

before  him.  JULES  DUPRE"  had  received  two  important  orders,  one 
from  the  Government  and  the  other  from  the  DUKE  D 'ORLEANS,  when 
the  revolution  broke  out.  The  two  pictures,  sketched  out,  remain  in 
the  artist's  studio.  He  has  frequently  of  late  years  been  offered 
enormous  sums  if  he  would  agree  to  finish  them  ;  but  the  old  master, 
still  independent  as  in  the  day  of  his  youth,  would  be  powerless  to 
execute  any  work  to  order. 

To-day,  as  forty  years  ago,  he  only  paints  what  is  in  his  thoughts. 
He  is  always  the  same  proud  artist  who,  having  gone  to  housekeeping 
with  forty  thousand  francs  of  debts,  rejected  the  offer  of  a  merchant 
who  engaged  in  writing  to  liquidate  these  old  obligations  provided  the 
artist  would  engage  to  make  some  concessions  to  public  taste. 
JULES  DUPRE1  remained  hesitating  an  instant ;  he  seemed  by  a  glance 
to  ask  the  advice  of  his  wife ;  the  latter,  worthy  of  such  an  artist, 
understood  him  and  replied  : 

"  Refuse !    We  shall  pay  our  debts  slowly,  in  time." 

The  debts  are  long  since  paid.  A  competence  has  crowned  the 
faith  of  the  brave  household.  Children  have  been  reared,  and  their 
future  is  assured.  Old  age  has  shown  a  pleasant  face  to  JULES 
DUPRE",  and  none  more  than  he  has  deserved  the  peace  of  the  latter 
years. 

The  amount  of  his  works  is  great.  Sustained  compositions,  like 
The  Pasture,  are  numerous ;  the  masterpieces  count  by  dozens.  The 
Luxembourg  Gallery  owns  two  admirable  canvases  by  the  painter; 
no  collection  worthy  of  the  name  can  be  imagined  without  a  picture 
by  JULES  DUPRE"  ;  the  more  remarkable  have  been  sold  for  a  bit  of 
bread.  The  Pasture,  representing  ten  months  of  toil  before  nature, 
was  purchased  for  two  thousand  francs.  La  Vanne,  that  magnificent 
canvas  owned  by  M.  VAN  PRAET,  Minister  of  the  Household  to  the 
King  of  the  Belgians,  brought  three  thousand.  But  what  was  the 
amount  to  him  ?  The  money  was  not  an  end,  but  a  means  to  go  and 
work  in  the  presence  of  nature.  He  borrowed  from  the  usurers  to  be 
able  to  keep  away  from  the  city. 

JULES  DUPRE"  had  hired,  at  four  hundred  francs  a  year,  a  work- 
ing-room in  the  Abbey  of  Saint-Pierre,  in  the  midst  of  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau.  He  came  but  rarely  to  Paris,  and  then  on  his  friends' 
affairs  rather  than  on  his  own.  It  was  he  who  forced  ROUSSEAU  on 

33 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

the  merchants.  It  was  he,  too,  who  peddled  the  despised  works  of 
MILLET  among  a  few  collectors  of  his  acquaintance,  and  who  divined 
TROYON  and  protected  him.  He  always  fled  the  great  city ;  he  re- 
gained the  solitude  of  the  fields  which  had  become  a  necessity. 
Only  the  country  could  restore  him  the  serenity  of  his  thoughts.  He 
returned  untiringly  to  I'  Isle- Adam,  the  region  of  his  early  infancy, 
where  he  recaptured  the  enthusiasms  of  youth.  These  lovely  banks 
of  the  Oise  have  always  attracted  the  painters.  THEODORE  ROUS- 
SEAU long  lived  beside  DUPR£  at  I'  Isle-Adam.  DAUBIGNY  was  not 
far  away  at  Auvers.  COROT  gave  his  kindly  smile  and  his  cheerful 
song,  from  time  to  time,  to  DUPRE',  whom  he  finally  termed  the  BEE- 
THOVEN of  landscape.  And  truly,  if  the  canvases  of  COROT  recalled 
the  adagios  of  MOZART,  the  energetic  and  often  terrible  subjects  of 
DUPR&  produced  the  effect  of  the  symphonies  of  the  immortal 
BEETHOVEN.  Like  him,  the  great  landscape  painter  has  invented  a 
new  sonorous  quality,  and  has  thrown  aside  the  old  methods  to  arrive 
at  the  maximum  of  intensity  in  his  art.  The  clouds  swept  by  tem- 
pests career  over  the  works  of  DUPRE1  with  the  vehemence  which 
BEETHOVEN  employed  when  he  let  loose  his  orchestra.  The  land- 
scape artist  has  constructed  on  the  grand  scale,  like  the  musician,  in 
the  same  rank  of  ideas,  and  with  the  same  impetuosity  in  going  to 
work.  The  characteristic  mark  of  the  productions  of  DUPR£  is 
power  arrived  at  its  highest  expression.  No  master  has  more  ener- 
getically rendered  the  rumbling,  threatening  voices  of  nature,  its 
overwhelming  effects,  before  which  we  collect  ourselves,  humbled  and 
pensive,  as  we  plunge  our  thoughts  in  a  symphony  of  BEETHOVEN. 

Sixty  years  of  labor  have  not  spoiled  this  great  artist.  Looking 
back  to  his  difficult  beginnings,  thinking  with  a  bitter  smile,  even  now, 
of  the  fifty  francs  hardly  snatched  from  fate  in  return  for  a  canvas 
where  the  young  painter  had  thrown  his  whole  soul  and  art,  the  re- 
membrance of  a  thousaud  successes  lights  up  that  fine  artistic  head, 
energetic  and  angular,  to  which  the  white  beard  and  the  long  locks 
floating  to  the  wind  give  a  kind  of  apostolic  air.  Always  young  in 
spirit,  he  now  beholds,  at  I'  Isle-Adam,  which  saw  his  first  hesitations 
as  an  artist,  his  own  apotheosis.  Latterly,  and  to  be  nearer  his 
grandchildren,  JULES  DUPRE"  chose  to  sacrifice  his  weak  side  for  the 
fields  to  his  tenderness  for  the  family.  He  installed  himself  like  other 

34 


JULES   DUPRfi 

people  in  a  neat  house  in  the  rue  Ampere  ;  but  the  tide  of  visitors,  of 
merchants  and  collectors,  the  general  movement  and  noise  which  arise 
about  an  artist  in  renown,  seized  upon  his  spirit  and  paralyzed  the 
free  course  of  his  thoughts.  Paris  deprived  him  of  his  vital  element, 
of  that  out-of-doors  where  he  has  passed  all  his  life ;  everything  was 
lacking  in  Paris — for  the  summer,  the  long  promenades  under  the 
trees ;  for  the  winter,  the  melancholy  of  a  landscape  stripped  of  ver- 
dure and  covered  with  snow ;  for  all  seasons,  the  solitude  given  up  to 
silent  meditation.  This  he  was  fain  to  seek  again  in  the  little  house 
at  I'  Isle-Adam,  where  from  his  studio,  at  all  hours,  the  artist  can  look 
out  on  nature.  His  thoughts  have  need  of  space  and  air;  the  land- 
scape painter  cannot  live  far  from  the  landscape.  He  needs  an  hourly 
access  to  nature,  whether  in  the  loneliness  of  the  fields,  or  before  the 
infinitude  of  the  ocean,  for  which  he  has  lately  been  smitten  with  a 
true  artist-lover's  passion.  In  fact,  at  the  period  when  other  painters 
are  tired  with  the  work  they  have  done  and  only  dream  of  rest,  JULES 
DUPR£  was  destined  to  form  a  new  evolution.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  passing  some  weeks  of  the  summer  at  Cayeux-sur-Mer,  looking  out 
on  the  sea  from  his  window.  One  morning  he  awoke,  and,  struck 
with  the  mysterious  effects  of  the  ocean  enveloped  in  the  profound 
heavens  stretched  upon  it,  the  artist  said  to  himself  : 

"  To  have  that  under  one's  eyes  and  not  paint  it  is  stupid." 
From  this  day  dates  the  transformation  of  JULES  DUPR£  in  a 
painter  of  marines.  He  took  up  this  specialty,  a  novelty  to  him,  with 
an  individual  kind  of  interpretation  of  the  sea.  The  master-thought 
which  guides  him  is  discoverable,  as  in  all  the  artist's  work,  and  it  is 
here  to  paint  the  effects  of  mystery  belonging  to  the  ocean,  the 
melancholy  which  overcomes  the  spirit  in  contemplating  the  infinite. 
JULES  DUPR£'S  opinion  is  that  the  painter's  entire  being  should  be 
reflected  in  his  art.  This  is  so  perfectly  true  of  the  hermit  of  I'  Isle- 
Adam,  that  without  knowing  him  we  divine  him  from  his  pictures ; 
grave  and  thoughtful,  with  a  shade  of  sadness  left  upon  him  by  the 
years  of  combat.  He  walks  straight,  his  hand  does  not  tremble,  and 
the  blue  and  gentle  eye,  in  a  most  energetic  head,  betrays  a  chosen 
soul  humbling  itself  before  nature,  in  recognition  of  the  tempests 
which  she  has  let  loose  in  its  thoughts. 

The  porcelain  painter's  apprentice  of  sixty  years  ago  has  likewise 

35 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

managed  to  perfect  his  literary  education,  which  was  neglected 
among  the  necessities  of  his  early  years.  The  works  of  the  great 
writers  are  familiar  to  him,  as  if  he  had  passed  his  whole  life  in 
examining  them.  He  is  fond  of  quoting  in  conversation  the  axioms 
of  one  author  after  another,  whence  he  has  derived  the  principles  of 
his  own  peculiar  art.  To  a  purchaser  who  was  teasing  him  to  finish 
a  picture  in  a  few  hours,  with  the  aid  of  that  sureness  of  hand  and 
eye  which  he  has  acquired,  JULES  DuFRfi  replied  in  my  presence : 

"  You  think,  then,  that  I  know  my  profession  ?  Why,  my  poor 
fellow,  if  I  had  nothing  more  to  find  out  and  to  learn  I  could  not 
paint  any  longer." 

In  these  words  is  his  whole  life  of  search  and  study.  Truly,  the 
day  when  self-doubt  should  vanish  from  an  artist's  mind,  the  day 
when  he  should  not  feel  before  his  canvas  the  trouble  which  throws 
the  brain  into  fever,  on  that  day  he  would  be  no  better  than  a  work- 
man taking  up  in  the  morning  the  task  of  the  evening  before,  plod- 
dingly and  without  hesitation,  but  also  without  nobility.  The  day 
when  JULES  DUPR£  should  open  his  studio  without  a  thrill  and 
leave  it  without  discouragement  he  would  consider  that  he  had 
arrived  at  the  end  of  what  he  could  do — and  he  would  be  right 


Eugene  Delacroix 


>MONG  the  great  artists  of  1830,  as  they  are  called,  there 
reigned,  as  we  have  already  said,  a  profound  brother- 
hood of  spirit,  founded  upon  the  high  esteem  which 
each  one  had  for  the  genius  of  the  others.  But  they 
all  considered  EUGENE  DELACROIX  as  the  most 
glorious  among  them ;  they  all  had  for  him  an  admiration  without 
limit.  He  was  in  a  sort  the  standard-bearer  of  the  grand  phalanx ; 
the  others  grouped  themselves  around  his  art  as  around  a  sacred 
banner.  This  homage  paid  by  common  consent  to  the  genius  of 
DELACROIX  was  derived  from  sincere  artistic  enthusiasm  and  not 
from  comradeship,  for  the  singular  character  of  the  artist,  still  some- 
what incomprehensible,  kept  him  a  stranger  to  cordial  everyday 
relations;  he  shut  himself  away  from  others;  his  private  life  was 
rigorously  sealed  up  and  his  residence  was  inaccessible.  DELACROIX 
had  the  gloomiest  apprehensions  about  his  health  ;  every  hour  had  a 
double  importance  in  his  thoughts ;  he  intrenched  himself  in  his  soli- 
tude accordingly,  so  as  not  to  waste  an  instant,  receiving  but  few 
friends  and  showing  himself  but  sparingly  in  society.  What  he  was 
in  his  commencements,  such  we  find  him  at  the  term  of  his  glorious 
career ;  his  life  was  expressed  in  the  single  word  labor. 

To  be  able  to  pass  his  life  thus  without  a  thought  of  the  externals, 
EUGENE  DELACROIX  had  an  important  auxiliary.  His  father,  who 
had  held  an  important  place  in  public  administration  and  in  diplo- 
macy, left  him  an  inheritance,  some  fifteen  thousand  francs  income, 
which  really  represented  a  fine  fortune  in  the  first  half  of  our  century. 
Besides,  he  had  not  the  slightest  taste  for  extravagance ;  he  lived  a 


37 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

quiet  life,  entirely  given  up  to  art,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  dazzle  his 
contemporaries.  Only  caring  for  an  independent  existence,  having 
no  need  to  make  money  and  no  love  for  it,  EUGENE  DELACROIX  was 
thus  enabled  to  march  in  his  headlong  path  without  any  concessions, 
as  without  hesitation.  No  artist  was  recognized  as  his  teacher,  for 
we  should  not  reckon  the  brief  stay  in  the  studio  of  GUERIN,  an  artist 
who  never  concealed  his  profound  contempt  for  his  rebellious  pupil. 

It  was  in  the  contemplation  of  the  masterpieces  in  the  Louvre 
that  his  genius  developed ;  and  for  modern  work  all  his  admiration 
fixed  itself  on  G^RICAULT,  who  foresaw  the  lofty  destiny  of  his 
youthful  friend,  and  felt  for  him  the  truest  tenderness.  Between  the 
great  tragic  poet  of  the  Shipwreck  of  the  Medusa  and  the  future 
author  of  the  Bark  of  Dante  it  was  easy  to  breed  a  sympathy ;  each 
had  the  same  ideal — living  drama.  The  admiration  of  EUGENE 
DELACROIX  for  G^RICAULT  was  unlimited  ;  indeed,  one  day  when 
the  master  had  asked  his  young  friend  to  give  him  one  of  his  sketches, 
the  youth,  in  the  overflow  of  his  pride  and  joy  at  such  a  request,  put 
knee  to  earth  as  he  made  his  offering,  like  mortal  before  a  divinity. 
G£RICAULT  raised  him  up  and  kissed  him  affectionately,  saying, 
"You  will  be  a  master."  When  EUGENE  DELACROIX  exhibited  his 
first  work,  in  1822,  M.  THIERS,  then  art  critic  of  the  Constitutionnel, 
hailed  him  enthusiastically. 

This  young  man  of  twenty-three  was  in  reality  the  master  divined 
by  GfiRlCAULT. 

M.  THIERS'S  enthusiasm  for  the  vastest  genius  produced  by 
French  painting  has  never  been  belied.  The  art  critic  had  taken 
up  the  painter  at  the  beginning.  The  more  DELACROIX  was  at- 
tacked, the  more  M.  THIERS  exalted  him  ;  by  his  pen  he  gradually 
forced  him  on  the  public,  and  later,  when  he  was  become  a  states- 
man, M.  THIERS  carried  his  favorite  painter  safely  through  the 
uproar,  and  got  him  the  order  for  the  state  decorative  paintings  in  the 
Louvre  and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  It  is  impossible  to  narrate 
the  glorious  life  of  EUGENE  DELACROIX  without  first  paying  homage 
to  the  discernment  of  the  art  critic,  and  to  the  enthusiasm  he  dis- 
played in  defending  the  works  so  abundantly  reviled  against  the 
blind  and  the  deaf  of  the  time. 

The  controlling  note  in  EUGENE  DELACROIX'S  painting  is  the 

38 


EUGENE  DELACROIX 

dramatic  note.  We  might  say  of  him  that  he  is  the  SHAKESPEARE 
of  art ;  he  has  the  great  author's  majesty  of  conception,  his  art  of 
painting  a  character  in  a  few  strokes,  and  his  power  of  color.  That 
which  interests  him  is  the  drama  of  all  epochs,  of  every  literature 
and  of  every  place.  The  Bark  of  Dante  is  only  the  first  step,  to 
which  succeed  those  memorable  masterpieces,  The  Scio  Massacres, 
Tasso  Among  the  Madmen,  The  Assassination  of  the  Bishop  of 
Liege,  The  Amende  Honorable,  Jacob  Wrestling  with  the  Angel, 
The  Bark  of  Christ,  Hamlet  and  the  Gravedigger,  The  Morocco 
Coast,  The  Barricade,  The  Death  of  Sardanapalus — little  imports 
the  subject.  Whether  he  dip  in  profane  or  sacred  history,  in  his- 
torical anecdote  or  in  the  life  of  the  wild  beast,  it  is  the  drama  and 
always  the  drama  which  thrills  in  his  magnificent  canvases,  which 
inspires  and  overcomes  us  in  the  contemplation  of  his  works ;  the 
drama  which  shakes  the  soul  because  we  feel  that  the  soul  of  the 
great  painter  is  in  it ;  he  overthrows  us  by  the  sublimity  of  the  pre- 
sentment, the  energy  of  the  execution,  the  magic  of  his  color.  In 
EUGENE  DELACROIX  genius  did  not  wait  for  years ;  it  burst  forth  at 
the  first  stroke,  powerful,  and,  so  to  speak,  in  its  highest  expression. 
Here  the  effort  of  the  start  is  no  mere  indication  by  which  to  fix  a 
point  of  departure.  It  is  the  representation  of  the  whole  career  ;  it  is 
as  the  manifesto,  as  the  programme  never  departed  from,  of  a  long, 
glorious  artistic  reign.  In  truth,  whatever  the  works  to  come  shall  be 
like,  the  first  canvas  shows  their  intellectual  germ ;  what  DELACROIX 
occupies  himself  about,  what  moves  him,  is  the  drama.  The  subject 
is  no  great  thing  for  this  grand  artist ;  it  is  naught  but  a  pretext ;  the 
dramatic  impression  proceeding  from  it  is  everything.  When  DELA- 
CROIX paints  the  magnificent  Christ  upon  the  Cross,  a  canvas  which 
appeared  as  one  of  the  capital  masterpieces  of  this  exhibition  which 
reckoned  so  many,  it  is  the  supreme  drama  which  inspires  him  ;  what 
he  desires  to  render  is  the  grand  crime  of  the  crucifixion,  and  not  the 
Crucified  Himself.  This  Son  of  God  is  not  the  traditional  CHRIST, 
correctly  nailed  to  the  cross;  it  is  the  visionary  apparition  bearing 
testimony  against  religious  persecution,  the  martyr  who  has  suffered 
his  doom  and  whom  we  see  across  the  dreadful  solitude  which  is  the 
image  of  his  abandonment.  He  cares  little  to  paint  correctly  an 
academic  study  according  to  the  routine  formula.  What  he  wants  to 

39 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

paint  is  the  grand  drama,  the  conclusive  moral  impression;  his 
CHRIST  has  lived,  his  flesh  has  thrilled,  his  heart  has  bled  in  truth ; 
he  is  the  incarnation  of  all  martyrdom,  of  consummate  crime  left  in 
the  midst  of  the  indifference  of  nature.  There  are  no  tears,  no 
lamentations  to  communicate  an  emotion  ;  it  exhales  all  naturally 
from  this  sole  figure,  and  it  suffices  for  depicting  the  entire  horror  of 
the  scene  and  for  filling  the  soul  with  veneration  and  profoundest 
pity.  This  is  the  effect  of  art  in  its  loftiest  development,  art  whose 
influence  is  terrifying  in  its  simplicity.  And  thus  we  find  the  artist 
in  all  his  works.  His  tiger  that  rolls  on  the  ground  roaring,  in  a 
landscape  of  grandest  aspect,  is  like  an  incarnation  of  bestial  strength, 
scattering  terror  around  it.  The  dramatic  composer  is  always  beside 
his  genius,  in  whatever  form  it  is  manifested.  He  is  the  earliest 
of  the  Orientalists,  going  to  Morocco,  and  in  this  sunlit  country  it  is 
still  the  drama  which  inspires  him,  whether  in  The  Convulsionists  of 
Tangier s  or  in  The  Giaour,  in  The  Lion  Hunt,  in  The  Horseman, 
who,  bending  over  his  steed,  with  bournous  flying  in  the  wind,  shoots 
across  the  desert  like  a  vision  of  destruction.  EUGENE  DELACROIX 
had  taken  from  the  chilled  hands  of  G^RICAULT  the  banner  of  that 
revolt  which  this  great  genius  had  raised  against  the  correct  and 
frigid  art  born  of  science,  without  one  throb  of  the  soul ;  he  carried 
it  proudly  and  aloft  across  a  hundred  battles  to  the  very  end  for  the 
glory  of  French  painting  in  our  century.  He  became  the  chief  of  the 
new  school,  called  romantic,  of  which  VICTOR  HUGO  was  the  apostle 
in  literature.  Like  the  grand  poet,  the  illustrious  painter  was  vilified, 
attacked  and  hissed.  His  art  triumphed,  even  ]<'ke  HUGO'S,  over  all 
its  opposers.  It  forced  itself  slowly  on  the  public,  through  innumer- 
able battles.  Now  it  is  the  pride  of  our  painting  school,  as  the  works 
of  HUGO  are  the  radiant  glory  of  our  French  nineteenth-century 
literature. 

The  so-called  classical  school,  men  of  a  rare  perfection  in  their 
science,  understood  nothing  of  this  art — an  art  bursting  from  the 
painter's  heart,  with  a  passion  which  sometimes  made  it  rise  to  the 
most  impregnable  altitudes,  yet  which  sometimes,  by  its  very  ex- 
aggeration, brought  it  down  again  to  the  ground ;  for  the  works  of 
DELACROIX  have  their  weak  passages,  I  admit,  because  they  are 
human  works,  because  they  are  not  born  of  cold  calculations  of  the 

40 


EUGENE  DELACROIX 

mind,  and  because  the  vexations  of  the  painter,  in  following  his  ideal, 
pierce  through  them.  But  the  aim  pursued  by  DELACROIX  was  to 
force  upon  us  that  tragical  influence  which  he  sought,  and  which  he 
always  attained.  We  may  criticise  him  on  more  than  one  point,  but 
not  until  after  we  have  recovered  from  the  shock  of  this  forcible 
genius,  a  shock  which  the  most  stubborn  mind  cannot  help  feeling. 

In  this  case  we  should  lose  our  labor  in  trying  to  guess  the  man 
from  his  works.  This  intractable  revolutionist  was,  in  private  life,  a 
coolly  correct  gentleman  of  rare  distinction.  When  he  appeared  in  a 
drawing-room  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where  he  cultivated 
the  closest  relations,  it  was  surprising  to  see  this  mutineer,  as  they 
called  him  at  the  Academy,  as  a  chevalier  of  most  finished  elegance, 
looking  far  more  like  a  diplomat  than  an  artist  who  was  overthrow- 
ing his  epoch.  DELACROIX  was  of  tall  stature,  and,  notwithstanding 
his  invalid  air,  he  allured  every  one  by  his  personal  grace  and  by  the 
lofty  qualities  of  his  mind,  to  which  his  correspondence  bears  witness. 
Highly  reserved  and  almost  timid,  he  talked  little,  but  never  did  a 
commonplace  come  from  his  lips.  His  eye,  of  an  unusual  intensity 
in  a  head  beaming  with  the  noblest  energy,  could  strip  his  inter- 
locutor to  the  very  marrow.  When  people  spoke  to  him  about  the 
impassioned  attacks  against  his  works,  he  confounded  the  flatterers 
with  a  polished,  icy,  discouraging  smile.  At  bottom,  it  was  a  great 
torture  to  him  to  see  himself  misunderstood,  but  he  was  too  proud  to 
let  this  be  perceived  ;  he  made  no  display  of  his  bitterness.  No  one 
ever  heard  him  complain  of  any  person  or  thing  whatever. 

His  unappreciated  masterpieces  accumulated  in  his  plain,  simple 
studio,  and  the  great  artist  felt  no  discontent.  DELACROIX  was  one 
of  those  tempered  souls  who  rely  for  their  satisfactions  on  the  secrets 
of  their  work,  with  an  impartial  contempt  for  adulation  or  for 
insult.  He  had  arranged  his  life  in  his  own  fashion,  and  above  all  in 
such  sort  that  nothing  was  to  disturb  him  from  his  art.  Except  a  few 
sparse  familiars,  to  whom  were  later  added  the  princes  of  Orleans, 
no  one  could  penetrate  his  existence ;  even  woman's  influence,  if  it 
ever  colored  his  life,  left  no  trace  there.  No  one  might  boast  of 
having  diverted  the  great  artist  from  his  art ;  no  one  ever  had  empire 
over  him.  The  flatteries  of  men  and  the  allurements  of  women 
remained  equally  ineffectual  for  that  iron  will,  which  would  not  let 

4' 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

itself  be  indented.  It  is  thus  that  DELACROIX  was  able  to  leave 
such  voluminous  productions.  We  should  be  much  deceived  if  we 
conjectured  that  these  masterpieces,  apparently  executed  so  freely, 
had  come  without  effort ;  they  are,  on  the  contrary,  the  result  of 
painful  toil  and  incessant  hesitations.  If  the  artist's  pains  do  not 
appear  in  them,  they  were  none  the  less  formidable  and  often  agoniz- 
ing. Before  these  admirable  productions  hostile  routine  was  obliged 
to  lay  down  its  arms  at  length.  The  renown  of  DELACROIX  ceased 
not  to  grow  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult  provoked  by  his  style.  The 
Institute,  which  had  reviled  him,  comprehended  that  it  must  needs 
make  a  compromise  with  the  master  who  contemned  it.  And 
now  this  mutineer,  this  insurgent,  this  revolutionary,  is  about  to 
enter  the  Academy.  What  protests  and  what  alarms !  Annibal 
ad  portas !  DELACROIX  undertook  the  siege  of  the  Academy,  and 
went  to  seat  himself,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  among  his  worst 
enemies. 

His  admission  to  the  Institute  was  the  greatest  satisfaction  of  his 
life  to  DELACROIX.  He,  the  insurgent  so  long  reviled,  was  about  to 
receive  this  acknowledgment  of  his  ever-increasing  influence  on  the 
part  of  the  very  men  who  had  never  ceased  to  combat  against  him,  who 
had  never  disguised  the  profound  scorn  inspired  in  them  by  this  great, 
obstinate  painter,  this  rebel  to  all  official  and  academic  art,  this  muti- 
neer against  routine,  who  till  now  had  lived  in  his  singularity.  It  was 
not  without  difficulty,  and  this  penetration  of  the  Academy  by  the 
greatest  painter  of  our  century  was  pushed  on  for  many  years  before  it 
was  effected.  M.  ROBERT-FLEURY,  the  historical  artist,  was  the  chief 
agent  in  the  diplomatic  negotiations.  Though  a  member  of  the  Insti- 
tute, he  did  justice  to  DELACROIX,  and  he  considered  with  the  utmost 
good  sense  that  the  election  of  the  great  artist  would  be  an  act  by 
which  the  Institute  honored  itself.  It  needed  to  gain  one  after  the 
other  before  at  last  DELACROIX,  a  pure  genius,  could  attain  the  place 
left  vacant  in  the  Institute  by  PAUL  DELAROCHE.  EUGENE  DELA- 
CROIX, barricaded  in  his  pride,  would  not  consent  to  take  any  steps 
himself;  yet  with  his  unerring  tact,  his  fine  intelligence,  his  innate 
grace,  he  conquered  the  members  of  the  Institute  one  by  one  when 
he  met  them  accidentally  in  drawing-rooms.  In  secret  they  were 
still  hostile,  and  their  anger  against  the  innovator  continued  the 

42 


EUGENE  DELACROIX 

same ;  but  DELACROIX  had  grown  to  such  a  height,  and  his  renown 
had  so  effectually  battered  from  the  breach  the  old  walls  of  the  Insti- 
tute, that  it  was  necessary  at  last  to  capitulate. 

EUGENE  DELACROIX  received  the  news  of  his  nomination  with  a 
joy  which  he  did  not  even  try  to  conceal.  He,  so  reserved  and  self- 
contained,  gave  himself  up  to  the  overflow  of  his  triumph.  Not  that 
he  attached  an  overweening  importance  to  the  palm-embroidered  coat 
and  the  pearl-hilted  sword,  but  because  his  art,  so  long  disdained,  had 
forced  a  citadel  deemed  invincible.  Once  in  his  place,  he  won  over 
the  most  backward  by  his  ready  wit  and  high  distinction.  People 
repeat  the  story,  whenever  the  occasion  presents,  that  DELACROIX 
many  times  expressed  regret  at  not  having  passed  through  the  School 
of  Rome,  from  which  most  of  the  members  of  the  Institute  had 
issued.  This  was  simply  the  act  of  politeness  of  a  great  mind,  noth- 
ing more — offered  to  the  Institute  to  console  it,  on  the  part  of  a  man 
of  social  education,  as  we  offer  a  card  in  a  house  where  we  have  been 
welcomed.  What  is  certain  is  that  DELACROIX  in  fact  regretted 
nothing  ;  and  his  style,  which  continued  independent  of  Institute  influ- 
ence to  the  very  close,  is  there  to  prove  it. 

As  he  had  passed  through  life,  EUGENE  DELACROIX  died  with- 
out any  enfeebling  of  the  will.  This  valetudinarian  painter,  who  did 
double  day's  work  for  fear  of  not  being  alive  on  the  morrow,  this  in- 
valid still  more  in  imagination  than  reality,  this  sensitive  genius 
whom  a  breath  seemed  fit  to  overthrow,  died  in  1863,  at  the  age  of 
sixty-four  years,  after  having  for  nearly  a  half  century  endured  an 
excessive  taskwork  of  every  day  and  every  hour.  DELACROIX  passed 
through  these  fifty  years  of  toil  without  taking  a  moment's  rest. 
When  he  went  away  from  Paris,  it  was  to  go  and  work  in  his  country 
house  of  Champrosay,  which  was  closed  against  the  curious,  like  his 
studio  in  Paris.  He  had  a  scorn  of  picture  commerce ;  he  seemed  to 
distrust  an  excess  of  prosperity  as  if  it  were  a  dissolving  element  for 
art;  otherwise  it  would  be  hard  to  explain  the  obstinate  simplicity 
with  which  he  surrounded  himself. 

The  death  scene  of  DELACROIX  is  of  itself  an  imposing  drama. 
He  had  lived  alone,  and  he  wished  to  die  in  peace.  When  he  felt  the 
supreme  solution  approaching,  he  directed  his  faithful  housekeeper  to 
receive  no  one  whatever,  sent  for  a  lawyer  and  dictated  to  him  his 

43 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

final  will  with  remarkable  calmness  and  with  that  lucidity  of  mind 
which  only  left  him  with  his  last  sigh.  Then  he  firmly  awaited  death, 
without  a  shudder,  without  a  complaint,  without  a  regret.  He  died 
self-concentrated,  as  he  had  lived,  without  bravado  as  without  weak- 
ness ;  neither  complaint  nor  challenge,  in  the  face  of  this  death  which 
steadily  advanced.  He  passed  away  in  a  last  smile,  as  a  man  who 
had  well  employed  his  life,  and  who  was  sure  that  his  name  would  be 
a  possession  of  posterity. 


44 


Diaz  de  la  Pena 


IAZ  was  already  old  when  I  had  the  honor  of  being  in- 
troduced to  him.  In  the  course  of  our  first  interview, 
I  mentioned  that  I  had  a  little  panel  of  his  of  fifteen 
centimetres,  a  perfect  gem — a  baby  lying  in  a  cradle 
with  the  mother  guarding  it,  and  the  sunshine  filtering 
into  the  modest  chamber  from  an  open  window,  with  the  reverbera- 
tions of  a  dusty  cloud  of  gold.  The  artist  asked  leave  to  pay  me  a 
visit  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  picture,  to  which  belonged,  he 
said,  some  interesting  souvenirs.  He  came  next  day  and  stood 
for  some  time  thoughtfully  before  his  work ;  he  looked  at  it  affection- 
ately, and  it  seemed  to  me  that,  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  he  was 
wiping  away  a  tear.  He  was  a  man  of  hardy  aspect,  and  in  him 
such  a  sudden  weakness  might  be  deemed  surprising. 

"  Would  you  be  good  enough  to  sell  me  this  little  picture  ?  "  he 
said :  "  it  belongs  to  a  part  of  my  youth." 

"  I  cannot  sell  it  you,"  I  replied ;  "  but  since  you  value  it,  allow 
me  to  offer  it  to  you." 

DIAZ  protested;  he  could  not  accept  a  gift,  and,  as  I  declined  to 
take  his  money,  we  agreed  that  he  should  exchange  the  picture  for 
another.  He  immediately  took  down  the  little  gem  from  the  wall 
and  asked  to  carry  it  away  with  him  without  loss  of  time.  On  his 
face,  now  radiant,  all  his  joy  was  visible. 

"  You  cannot  imagine  the  pleasure  you  are  giving  me,"  he  said. 
"This  woman  and  this  infant  are  my  own  family.  The  baby  was 
in  its  cradle  one  fine  summer  day ;  the  mother  had  fallen  asleep 
beside  it.  In  one  hour  I  did  the  sketch  from  nature.  It  used  to  hang 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

over  my  bed,  and  it  cheered  my  awakening  every  day  for  years. 
Then  arrived  a  morning  when  we  were  more  in  want  of  necessaries 
than  usual.  A  dealer  came  along  and  offered  me  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs.  I  told  him  I  valued  that  study  especially,  and  preferred 
that  he  should  choose  two  other  pictures  for  the  same  price;  he 
insisted  on  taking  that  one  in  particular.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it, 
my  rent  was  due  next  day.  I  was  not  in  a  position  to  be  too  par- 
ticular. He  gave  me  a  bank  note  of  one  hundred  francs,  and  ten 
hundred-sous  pieces.  I  made  him  out  a  receipt,  and  he  never  per- 
ceived that  he  was  carrying  off  a  bit  of  my  heart.  Ah  !  it  was  hard." 

Then,  made  eloquent  by  remembrance,  DIAZ  told  me  about  his 
beginnings  and  their  terrible  hours,  the  perpetual  struggle  for  daily 
bread,  accompanying  his  recital  by  pounding  the  floor  with  his 
wooden  leg,  and  gesticulating  like  the  southerner  he  was.  He  had 
the  appearance  of  an  old  soldier  telling  the  dangerous  adventures  of 
his  fights.  DIAZ  was  of  lofty  height ;  his  head  was  not  handsome,  but 
of  remarkable  energy.  Notwithstanding  the  artist's  age,  his  hair  had 
remained  conspicuously  black ;  his  thick  moustache  and  tuft  com- 
pleted his  military  air.  He  spoke  by  spurts ;  his  rough  voice  would  be 
taken  for  that  of  habitual  command.  On  the  whole,  he  was  what  you 
would  call  a  genuine  sort  of  man,  most  free  in  his  avowals,  very  open 
in  his  communications,  and  through  the  simplicity  of  his  language 
you  felt  the  throbbings  of  a  heart  of  gold. 

He  wrapped  up  his  treasure  in  a  newspaper  and  made  off  with 
an  active  step,  whistling  a  merry  tune.  When  he  had  got  it  home 
he  hung  it  up  in  his  chamber  as  formerly,  this  family  souvenir,  just 
above  the  bed ;  and  he  fancied  it  shed  on  him  every  morning  some- 
thing like  a  ray  of  his  youth. 

The  excellent  man  preserved  to  the  end  a  kind  recollection  of  this 
early  incident  of  our  relations.  If  I  may  say  for  myself  that  I 
venerated  the  aged  and  brave  artist,  I  may  add  that  for  me  he  was 
undoubtedly  a  friend  ;  how  many  long  hours  have  we  passed  together 
in  his  studio,  in  pleasant  conversations  about  the  men  of  his  day! 
He  was  one  of  those  who  gave  celebrity  to  the  village  of  Barbizon,  in 
the  forest  of  Fontainebleau ;  he  had  lived  there  with  THEODORE 
ROUSSEAU  and  MILLET  ;  with  ROUSSEAU  especially,  whom  he  con- 
sidered the  "master";  in  his  private  collection  he  had  two  enchant- 


DIAZ  DE  LA  PENA 

ing  little  landscapes  of  his ;  and  when  you  talked  to  DIAZ  of  his  own 
art,  he  would  carry  you  off  to  the  works  of  his  great  acquaintance, 
saying :  "  Here  are  the  bon-bons."  In  all  the  great  artists  of  that 
generation  you  perceived  the  mutual  esteem  they  entertained  for  each 
other's  talent. 

In  the  group  of  painters  beyond  the  average,  DIAZ  DE  LA  PENA 
is  the  great  artist  of  the  fantastical.  Anything  serves  him  as  a  pre- 
text for  bringing  to  light  his  marvelous  aptitude  as  a  colorist.  He 
has  not  the  science  of  ROUSSEAU  nor  the  poesy  of  COROT,  still  less 
the  severe  grandeur  of  DUPR6.  He  renders  the  enchantments  of  the 
landscape  flooded  with  sunshine  or  the  forest  plunged  in  luminous 
twilight,  with  beams  filtering  through  the  thick  leafage ;  he  dazzles 
the  eye  with  all  the  seductions  of  a  grand  colorist ;  by  these  obvious 
qualities,  which  affect  even  the  uninitiated  spectator,  he  gets  closer  to 
the  latter  than  other  landscapists  of  the  time.  He  is  the  grand 
virtuoso  of  the  palette,  making  sport  of  difficulties.  With  him  every- 
thing is  of  the  first  impulse  ;  his  work  is  thrown  off  with  brio  ;  the 
enchantment  of  the  color  carries  it  along.  We  can  imagine  him  in 
the  solitudes  of  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  making  the  wooden  leg 
resound  on  the  earth  and  singing  with  all  his  lungs  to  let  off  his 
exuberant  nature.  The  countrymen  whom  MILLET  stopped  to  regard 
with  compassionate  thoughts  did  not  attract  him.  He  dots  the  pond- 
side,  where  the  sun  gleams,  with  peasant  girls,  mere  little  red 
touches.  In  his  sun-gilt  landscapes  DIAZ  puts  such  figures  as 
offered,  by  their  costumes,  a  pretext  for  the  wealth  of  his  palette. 
The  Descent  of  the  Bohemians  is  the  fullest  expression  of  this  style ; 
here  all  is  life  and  air ;  the  band  is  coming  down  a  steep  path ; 
through  the  foliage  the  sun  rains  down  its  beams  and  floods  the 
whole  picture  with  a  transparent  and  luminous  half-light;  it  is  a 
perfect  dazzle  to  the  eye,  like  all  the  works  of  this  great  colorist. 
From  the  Orient,  as  he  passes  through  it,  he  only  collects  the  remem- 
brances of  silky  stuffs  and  golden  embroideries,  spreading  forth  their 
pride  in  the  sun ;  from  Italy  he  only  preserves  the  method  of  the 
colorist  VERONESE,  whom  he  often  equals  in  the  attractiveness,  if  not 
in  the  conception,  of  his  work.  As  for  mythology,  it  is  merely  his 
excuse  for  modeling  in  full  impasto  and  in  open  daylight  the  nymphs 
and  the  Dianas. 

47 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

Those  who  knew  DIAZ  in  his  youth  remember  his  as  the  most 
expansive  of  natures ;  the  man  was  alive,  like  his  painting,  always 
acting  from  the  first  impulse.  His  words,  guiltless  of  the  refinements 
of  conversation,  were  as  energetic  as  his  brush  ;  he  said  roughly  what 
he  thought,  in  whatever  company  he  found  himself.  The  style  of  his 
talk  was  the  same  in  the  tavern  or  in  the  drawing-room.  When  in 
good  humor  he  would  drown  the  noise  of  the  talking  by  formidable 
peals  of  laughter ;  the  least  annoyance  would  evoke  from  him  the 
oaths  of  an  old  sailor,  to  the  accompaniment  of  reiterated  strokes  of 
the  wooden  leg — the  "  pestle,"  he  called  it.  When  poor,  he  laughed 
at  hardship  ;  when  rich,  he  remained  simple.  As  money  flowed  in,  at 
the  close  of  his  life,  he  only  saw  in  it  the  means  for  satisfying  the 
tastes  of  the  artist,  for  the  purchase  of  the  pictures  of  his  celebrated 
friends,  without  any  cheapening,  of  rare  potteries  and  luxurious  rugs, 
which  made  the  oddest  contrast  with  his  commonplace  mahogany 
furniture.  It  was  the  type  of  the  old-time  artist,  the  good  fellow, 
frank  and  laughing.  A  trifle  amused  his  juvenile  spirit ;  you  were 
sure  to  make  him  laugh  aloud  with  some  old,  warmed-up  anecdote. 
He  would  writhe  in  a  spasm  of  mad  hilarity  when  you  took  off  an 
actor  in  his  presence,  and  a  comic  song  at  the  dessert  of  an  old- 
fashioned  dinner  was  worth  to  him  all  the  fashionable  balls  in  the 
world. 

At  first  sight  DIAZ  was  not  attractive.  His  nature  appeared  rude ; 
except  for  his  glowing  eyes  there  was  nothing  about  his  person  of  the 
distinction  of  his  art.  But  after  penetrating  to  his  intimacy,  his  deli- 
cate nature,  so  strangely  in  contrast  with  the  surface,  opened  out  like 
a  delicious  landscape  which  you  discover  after  climbing  a  craggy 
road.  At  the  heart  of  that  rough  bark  you  penetrated  to  the  most 
exquisite  refinements,  fatherly  affection  in  its  most  touching  manifest- 
ations, and  manly  friendship  without  any  grand  word,  but  full  of  deli- 
cate attentions.  His  element  was  the  sunshine ;  in  summer  he  braved 
its  hottest  beams ;  in  winter  he  made  it  live  again  out  of  his  marvelous 
palette.  During  the  late  war,  at  Brussels,  he  worked  in  a  cold, 
gloomy  hotel  chamber  looking  out  on  a  court  of  cheerless  aspect. 
But  the  painter,  though  old,  had  brought  along  his  fatherland  in  a 
color-box.  In  this  gloomy  work-room,  bowed  down  with  patriotic 
anxieties,  he  lived  with  his  memory  in  the  midst  of  his  beloved  forest 

48 


DIAZ  DE  LA  PENA 

of  Fontainebleau,  which  he  transported  to  his  canvas.  The  exuberant 
sunshine  of  his  pictures  seemed  to  warm  that  sad  refuge  of  his  exile  ; 
his  art  was  everything  to  DIAZ,  and  he  found  a  refuge  from  the 
troubles  of  life  in  his  painting.  His  career  was  a  long  dream,  in 
which  he  perceived  an  imaginary  world  beside  the  actualities  of 
earthly  landscapes  ;  it  was  something  like  a  fairy  spectacle,  streaming 
with  silks  and  velvets  and  gold.  Under  the  groves  he  called  forth 
pages  holding  greyhounds  in  leash,  chatelaines  richly  dight,  nymphs 
with  flesh  of  exquisite  tone.  Sometimes  under  his  magic  pencil 
these  improvisations  took  a  more  lofty  flight  towards  grand  art,  as  in 
his  famous  Diana,  who  seems  to  have  escaped  from  the  works  of  the 
old  masters. 

DIAZ  was  above  all  an  improvisator  and  a  creator  of  fantasies. 
He  himself  acknowledged  what  was  lacking  in  his  pictures  to  place 
them  quite  in  the  first  rank.  He  found  himself  overflowed  with  those 
powers  of  color  which  constitute  his  glory,  but  to  which  he  sacrificed 
the  rest.  Yet  we  hardly  detect  the  occasional  want  of  completeness 
in  the  forms  of  his  figures,  so  entirely  are  we  under  the  charm  of  the 
color. 

After  the  war,  when  the  world  precipitated  itself  on  Paris,  to  buy 
at  a  bargain  her  art  productions,  which  were  expected  to  be  at  a 
changed  tariff  after  so  many  disasters,  there  arrived  the  phenom- 
enon that  the  prices  of  pictures  rapidly  tripled,  from  the  increased 
demand.  Then  fortune  came  to  DIAZ.  He  purchased  at  the  seaside 
village  of  Etretat  a  pretty  villa  in  the  midst  of  a  garden,  where  the 
flowers,  which  he  loved  so  heartily  and  copied  with  such  rare  technic, 
flaunted  themselves  in  the  sun.  He  had  under  his  eyes,  from  the 
window,  with  the  first  ray  of  dawn,  all  the  astonishments  of  color ; 
behind  the  house,  which  was  set  against  the  cliffs,  a  climbing  path 
led  to  the  downs  whence  the  ocean  was  visible.  Here  was  where  he 
liked  to  rest  in  the  contemplation  of  infinitude,  and  before  this  sublime 
side  of  creation  his  artist's  heart  expanded.  Often,  in  his  moments  of 
familiar  confidence,  he  expressed,  among  his  professional  comments, 
a  kind  of  regret,  as  if  he  had  taken  a  false  road  in  life.  He  felt  him- 
self near  his  end,  and,  instead  of  little  pictures,  he  vowed  that  he 
meant  only  to  make  vast  pictures,  in  which  he  might  express  all  his 
art  and  all  his  ambition  for  the  eyes  of  posterity. 

49 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

The  coming  on  of  winter  was  always  dangerous  to  him.  In  1876, 
DIAZ  felt  himself  attacked  by  an  affection  of  the  chest  which  rendered 
all  work  impossible.  He  went  to  Mentone,  where  for  an  instant  he 
seemed  to  revive  with  a  new  existence.  It  was  there  that  he  executed 
his  last  pictures.  Death  took  him  by  surprise,  still  at  his  work.  It 
was  impossible  to  overcome  this  character,  still  full  of  energy,  during 
the  final  sickness,  unless  by  taking  the  brush  from  his  hands  and 
shattering  it.  Broken  at  once  in  frame  and  in  spirit,  DIAZ  did  not 
resist  longer.  Without  his  work,  life  offered  no  attraction.  From 
his  deathbed,  through  the  open  window,  he  beheld  the  landscape 
bathed  with  sunshine,  and  the  great  enchanter  died  while  looking  his 
last  on  the  day-star  which  inspired  all  his  work. 


J.  L.  E.  Meissonier 


OOKING  out  on  the  boulevard  Malesherbes,  at  the  corner 
of  the  rue  Legendre,  is  found  a  little  mansion  of  fantastic 
pattern,  adapted  for  privacy  of  living.  The  building 
strikes  a  different  note  from  the  architecture  of  the  new 
houses  which  surround  it ;  it  has  the  air  of  imitating  a 
cloister.  Through  the  windows,  which  are  hardly  ever  opened,  the 
passer-by  sees  no  trace  of  modern  luxury,  such  as  betrays  itself  at 
ordinary  windows  by  the  pompous  show  of  brilliant  hangings  and 
overloaded  gilding.  There  are  no  salons,  properly  speaking,  in  this 
artistic  residence ;  instead,  we  find  two  large  studios  which  com- 
municate and  occupy  all  the  width  of  the  first  floor.  Here  from 
morning  till  evening  one  of  the  greatest  artists  of  our  century  bends 
over  a  task  which  has  continued  for  fifty  years  with  the  same  con- 
scientiousness, the  same  industry.  The  greatest  glory  of  M.  MEIS- 
SONIER before  posterity  will  be,  not  merely  to  have  been  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  masters  of  his  time,  but  also  to  have  sacrificed  no  par- 
ticle of  his  personal  dignity  at  any  period  of  his  long  career.  The 
history  of  all  the  arts  is  degraded  by  the  numerous  examples  of  weak- 
ness manifested  by  the  grandest  talents,  when,  arrived  at  the  height 
of  the  position  gained,  they  have  thrown  out,  as  a  bait  to  the  pur- 
chaser, works  conceived  with  the  sole  eye  to  the  money  return,  with- 
out a  thought  of  self-respect  or  of  that  integrity  in  workmanship 
which  is  due  toward  the  public  in  return  for  the  artist's  prominent 
situation.  M.  MEISSONIER  incontestably  has  the  credit  of  having  re- 
fused to  sacrifice  his  conscience  to  considerations  foreign  to  his  art  at 
any  period  of  his  life.  This  "  respectability,"  in  the  English  sense,  is 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

beyond  contradiction  ;  and  those  who  make  certain  reserves  in  praising 
his  work  are  bound  to  salute  respectfully  this  fine  professional  con- 
scientiousness. 

Revolutions  in  artistic  opinion  produce  a  kind  of  inconsistency  in 
the  public  mind,  like  those  of  politics.  DELACROIX,  carrying  on  the 
impulse  of  G^RICAULT,  had  passed  across  French  art  with  his 
impressive  dramas,  and  with  the  fury  of  his  style,  commended  by  all 
the  enchantments  of  his  incomparable  coloring.  Third-rate  painters 
misrepresented  the  principles  of  this  grand  style  in  adopting  all  the 
defects  of  the  master  without  his  genius.  Boldness  of  conception 
was  changed  for  a  perfect  oblivion  of  pictorial  composition  ;  audacity 
of  coloring  became  wilful  eccentricity,  and  artists  lived  under  the 
anarchy  of  a  headlong  romantic  inspiration,  whether  in  choice  of 
subject  or  in  incoherent  manipulation.  I  know  no  better  comparison 
for  this  crisis  than  that  of  our  contemporary  musical  composition,  sent 
off  its  balance  by  the  genius  of  RICHARD  WAGNER.  In  the  focus  of 
this  disorder  arose  one  fine  day  M.  MEISSONIER,  with  his  miniature 
works  of  such  accurate  design  and  scrupulous  execution.  The 
neglected  art  of  the  Low  Countries  was  born  again  of  the  pencil  of 
this  youth  from  Lyons,  offspring  of  parents  in  modest  circumstances  ; 
it  reappeared  like  a  protest  against  debauch,  a  final  appeal  to  the 
artistic  conscience.  In  a  national  school  committed  to  every  extrava- 
gance what  was  there  left  to  do  for  a  disciple  of  TERBURG,  of 
MIERIS,  of  GERARD  Dow  ?  He  was  scornfully  dubbed  the  painter 
of  little  toy  images.  Then,  as  M.  MEISSONIER'S  studies  steadily 
brought  him  nearer  to  nature,  he  was  treated  as  a  photographer. 
The  indifferent  copyists  of  DELACROIX  could  not  sufficiently  show 
their  contempt  for  the  conscientious  toiler.  They  argued  him  down 
with  the  same  fury  and  the  same  intolerance  that  the  classical 
professors  of  the  Institute  had  let  loose  against  DELACROIX  himself. 
They  gave  no  credit  to  M.  MEISSONIER  for  the  severe  design  seen  in 
his  work,  for  the  irreproachable  execution,  for  that  lofty  artistic  con- 
science incapable  of  ever  contradicting  itself,  qualities  which  have 
been  surpassed  by  none  of  his  predecessors,  which  guaranteed  for  his 
name  the  respect  of  posterity.  The  moneyless  youth  from  Lyons,  the 
pupil  of  LE"ON  COGNIET,  was  destined  to  become  one  of  the  greatest 
artists  of  the  century. 

52 


J.  L.  E.   MEISSONIER 

The  principal  reproach  made  against  M.  MEISSONIER  was  that  of 
choosing  his  subjects  in  past  ages.  He  did  not  live  in  his  epoch,  they 
said;  he  was  not  a  modern.  Why  did  he  constantly  go  back  to 
Louis  XIII.  or  Louis  XIV.  ?  The  merit  of  the  Dutch,  on  whom  the 
style  of  M.  MEISSONIER  depended,  was  precisely  in  leaving  us  a  kind 
of  pictorial  history  of  their  civilization  in  their  work.  It  is  easily 
said.  But  when  a  painter  lives  at  a  period  which  has  no  style,  and 
which  constantly  refers  itself  towards  the  older  furniture  to  garnish 
itself  with  an  artistic  effect,  a  period  which  has  no  attractive  cos- 
tumes or  of  a  nature  to  allure  the  artist,  the  latter  is  surely  obliged  to 
find  elsewhere  the  elements  we  deny  him. 

It  is  impossible  to  esteem  the  eminent  artist  at  his  value  when  one 
has  not  learned  by  heart  the  length  and  breadth  of  his  work.  The 
least  panel  by  M.  MEISSONIER  is  the  result  of  many  searchings  and 
of  studies  without  end.  The  walls  of  his  studio  bear  witness  to  his 
conscientious  method.  On  the  eye-line,  all  around  the  two  ateliers 
are  the  proofs  of  his  perpetual  efforts.  We  can  there  read  the  sin- 
cerity and  wonderful  determination  of  a  man  who  leaves  nothing  to 
chance,  who  never  loses  sight  of  nature,  and  who  makes  no  account 
of  time  when  it  behooves  him  to  carry  on  a  work  to  the  pitch  of  per- 
fection which  the  artist  desires.  Drawings,  painted  sketches,  statu- 
ettes in  wax,  have  been  prepared  before  the  final  undertaking ;  it  is 
the  scale-practice  of  this  inimitable  executant  before  he  plays  his 
piece.  For  the  least  figure  M.  MEISSONIER  makes  repeated  prepara- 
tory studies ;  he  never  attacks  it  finally  until  after  he  has  long  paused 
before  the  natural  object,  scrutinizing  it  in  detail  before  painting  it  at 
large.  If  the  pains  are  nowhere  betrayed  in  the  finished  work  of 
M.  MEISSIONIER — the  very  charm  of  it  being  just  in  this  apparent 
ease — they  are  none  the  less  prodigious.  The  famous  artist  judges 
that  while  there  remains  anything  to  do,  nothing  is  done ;  the  ecstasy 
of  the  critic  gives  little  solace  to  his  life  when  he  is  not  satisfied  with 
himself.  The  day  when  M.  MEISSONIER  sets  the  signature  at  the 
bottom  of  the  finished  task,  he  is  satisfied  that  he  has  poured  his 
talent  completely  into  his  picture.  If  he  deceives  himself,  it  is  in 
good  faith,  and  not  by  any  debauchery  of  that  professional  conscience 
which  is  preserved  by  this  seventy-years-old  artist ;  you  could  not 
get  from  him  at  any  price  a  work  which  he  does  not  himself  judge  to 

53 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

be  carried  out  to  its  full  intensity.  More  times  than  one  has  he 
destroyed  with  slashes  of  his  knife  some  picture  of  immense  pecu- 
niary value  because  he  has  condemned  it  as  unworthy  of  his  great 
reputation. 

Jealous  to  preserve  his  grand  situation  intact  in  the  present,  M. 
MEISSONIER  is  equally  careful  of  his  renown  before  posterity.  Find- 
ing his  works  dispersed  in  the  galleries  of  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe,  he  has  deemed  that  he  might  properly  select  two  of  his  pic- 
tures to  bequeath  to  the  Louvre.  He  has  several  times  been  offered 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  for  two  of  the  panels  which  figured  in 
the  exhibition  to  whose  memory  this  work  is  devoted ;  but  The 
Etcher,  as  well  as  The  Man  at  the  Window,  will  only  leave  the 
studio  of  the  artist  to  pass  one  day  to  the  Louvre.  Never  has  painter 
penetrated  further  into  nature  than  M.  MEISSONIER  has  done  in 
these  two  pictures,  which  he  justly  considers  as  the  highest  expres- 
sion of  his  art. 

Another  subject  at  the  exhibition  of  the  Hundred  Masterpieces 
indicated  that  evolution  which  was  made  by  MEISSONIER,  about  the 
middle  of  his  career,  towards  military  art.  Before  finally  undertaking 
it,  the  painter  spent  several  years  in  preparatory  studies.  An  artist 
so  conscientious  as  he  could  leave  nothing  to  luck,  nor  satisfy  himself 
with  painting  his  subject  pretty  nearly  right  or  superficially.  One 
should  see,  in  the  studio  of  the  master,  the  innumerable  studies  of 
horses  made  before  the  first  cavalryman  was  painted.  Himself  an 
enthusiastic  horseman,  M.  MEISSONIER  made  the  horse  an  object  of 
long  investigations.  Not  only  did  he  continually  draw  the  animal 
from  nature,  but  he  wished  to  live  familiarly  with  horses,  so  as  to  be 
always  observing  them.  At  his  country  place  at  Poissy,  the  painter 
formed  a  well-furnished  stud,  where  his  horses  were  always  found 
ready  to  be  mounted,  in  order  that  he  might  observe  their  most 
varied  movements.  Others  would  be  grazing  at  liberty  on  the  lawns, 
always  under  the  eye  of  the  painter,  who  thus  examined  them  in 
action  and  in  repose.  He  had  them  to  gallop  over  ploughed  ground 
or  in  fields  of  grain  arranged  in  his  park,  to  note  the  disturbance 
made  by  their  hoofs.  Patiently,  with  his  own  characteristic  tenacity, 
M.  MEISSONIER  made  himself  gradually  an  authority  on  the  horse, 
as  on  the  human  figure,  and  it  was  only  after  having  studied  the 

54 


J.  L.  E.  MEISSONIER 

equine  race  for  many  years  that  this  man  of  wonderful  conscience  set 
it  in  his  pictures.  In  this  thorough  way  he  has  treated  the  epic  of  the 
first  Empire  in  a  great  number  of  compositions,  of  which  the  most 
perfect,  The  Retreat  from  Russia  in  1814,  is  not  merely  a  master- 
piece of  composition  and  execution,  but  again  is  a  grand  page  of  his- 
tory in  limited  form. 

Such  immense  labor,  with  such  a  fine  artistic  conscientiousness, 
must  needs  win  over  the  most  reluctant.  To-day,  M.  MEISSONIER 
is  spectator  of  his  own  apotheosis.  A  half  century  of  incessant  toil 
has  made  the  Lyons  artist  the  most  celebrated  of  living  painters. 
The  prices  of  his  pictures  have  reached  a  formidable  figure,  unknown 
till  his  time.  The  most  valuable  eulogium  that  can  be  made  of  M. 
MEISSONIER  is  to  say  that  he  has  never  yielded  to  the  seduction  of  a 
million  francs,  though  exposed  to  it  in  all  its  perfidy;  this  man  of 
seventy  years  has  resisted  all  the  temptations  of  money,  in  an  age 
when  it  overthrows  and  controls  the  bravest.  The  great  artist, 
whose  works  are  so  dearly  paid,  is  not  rich,  as  might  be  supposed, 
not  only  because  his  grand  seigneur's  caprices  absorb  his  revenues, 
but  because  he  has  never  done  anything  for  the  sake  of  money.  His 
signature  has  become  such  a  capital  that,  by  distributing  it  prodigally 
on  slight  pieces  of  work,  M.  MEISSONIER  might  gain  a  million  francs 
a  year ;  but  his  conscience  is  so  fine  that  he  had  rather  remain  for 
whole  years  without  making  a  penny  than  throw  upon  the  market  a 
work  unworthy  of  his  renown.  What  the  public  pays  for  in  the  case 
of  this  artist  is  the  long,  and  above  all,  the  arduous  study ;  the  end- 
less hesitations  before  any  new  class  of  work ;  the  professional 
honesty  of  the  man  who  reckons  neither  his  time  nor  his  trouble  in 
keeping  up  his  art  to  the  level  which  the  master  aims  at,  and  which 
he  attains  in  nearly  every  case.  The  famous  painter,  whose  works 
sell  not  at  their  weight  in  gold,  but  at  their  weight  in  bank  notes,  is 
not  a  wealthy  man ;  his  whole  investment  consists  simply  in  the 
innumerable  and  magnificent  studies  kept  in  the  atelier ;  their  value 
is  very  great,  and  the  artist  refuses  to  sell  them  at  any  price,  because 
these  mute  witnesses  of  his  existence  seem  to  him  like  the  diary  of 
of  his  whole  professional  career,  written  with  his  own  hand  from  day 
to  day ;  they  are  the  familiars  of  his  pains  and  joys ;  to  the  spectator 
of  these  thousands  of  studies  they  are  the  proofs  of  that  sincerity  and 

55 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

determination  which  the  painter  lavishes  on  all  his  works,  without 
distinction  of  size,  kind  or  price. 

When  we  estimate  M.  MEISSONIER  only  by  the  pictures  which 
are  presented  to  the  eyes  of  the  public,  when  we  render  justice, 
simply  as  before  the  result  attained,  to  the  vast  sum  of  talent  lavished 
often  upon  a  mere  panel  of  four  inches  square,  we  are  far  from 
appreciating  him  at  his  just  value.  To  establish  M.  MEISSONIER  at 
his  veritable  rank  in  our  estimation  we  must  make  a  calculation,  after 
many  an  investigation,  of  all  the  states  through  which  the  work  has 
passed  before  arriving  at  publicity,  of  all  the  studies  which  have  pre- 
pared for  the  actual  painting  and  accompanied  it ;  nothing  is  left  to 
luck  in  this  painting,  every  effect  is  based  on  profound  reflection,  on 
watchfulness  without  truce,  in  the  face  of  the  natural  model.  That 
is  why  M.  MEISSONIER  is  such  a  great  artist.  To  those  who  take 
exception  to  the  scale  of  his  pictures  and  regret,  in  the  name  of  so- 
called  grand  art,  that  the  famous  painter  has  kept  his  work  down  to 
a  narrow  measure,  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  in  art  this  is  a 
secondary  question,  and  that  the  picture  entitled  "1814,"  in  its  little 
frame,  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  dramas  in  our  century's  painting, 
even  as  M.  MEISSONIER  is  one  of  the  loftiest  artists  of  our  time. 

Nor  is  M.  MEISSONIER  any  more  responsible  for  his  imitators,  for 
those  who  try  on  his  shoes,  than  was  DELACROIX  for  the  daubers 
who  swarmed  in  his  wake.  People  have  often  reproached  our  artist 
for  belittling  the  painting  of  his  time,  in  setting  the  fashion  of 
miniature  panels.  It  would  be  a  more  just  remark  to  say  that  he  had 
brought  back  by  his  art  a  whole  generation  to  a  respect  for  nature. 
Doubtlessly  the  painting  of  our  artist  is  not  art  in  its  entirety,  but  it 
is  one  of  its  most  interesting  manifestations  that  our  age  has  seen, 
and  the  name  of  the  lofty  painter  of  little  pictures  is  more  securely 
fixed  before  the  future  than  if  he  had  misconceived  his  extraordinary 
gifts  and  had  brushed  great  canvases  of  quality  inferior  to  those 
which  we  see  signed  with  the  name  of  MEISSONIER,  the  first  painter 
of  the  close  of  our  century,  and  one  of  the  most  astonishing  artists 
who  have  made  it  illustrious. 


Theodore  Rousseau 


|EE,  neighbor,"  said  JULES  DUPR£,  as  he  entered  the 
residence  of  the  baritone  BAROILHET,  of  the  French 
opera,  "  I  am  going  to  offer  you  a  good  bargain.  I 
have  a  masterpiece  to  dispose  of." 

"  A  masterpiece  ?  "  repeated  the  famous  singer ; 
"  and  who  has  executed  the  masterpiece  ?  " 

"THEODORE  ROUSSEAU." 

"  Yes  ?  he  is  a  man  of  talent — plenty  of  talent,"  said  BAROILHET  ; 
"  but  money  is  scarce." 

"  You  can  pay  in  two  installments,"  insinuated  DuPRE1  ;  "  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  francs  a  month." 

"Where  is  your  masterpiece?  "  demanded  BAROILHET. 

JULES  DUPR£  leaned  out  of  a  window  and  made  signs  to  a  porter, 
in  waiting  at  the  door,  to  come  up  stairs.  "  Look  here,"  he  said  to 
his  friend. 

This  baritone,  BAROILHET,  then  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  was  a 
man  of  taste — one  of  the  first  who  comprehended  the  important 
advance  of  landscape  painting  in  1830.  He  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise 
and  enthusiasm,  for  it  was  really  a  chef-d'ceuvre  \i\\ich.  JULES  DupRfi 
was  offering  him  for  five  hundred  francs.  It  was  Le  Givre,  one  of 
ROUSSEAU'S  most  celebrated  canvases,  which  is  worth  now  at  least 
one  hundred  thousand  francs.  Since  morning,  JULES  DUPR£  had  car- 
ried the  canvas  up  and  down  through  Paris  without  being  able  to  find 
a  niche  for  it.  He  was  unwilling  to  go  home  unsuccessful,  for  he  had 
surely  vowed  to  ROUSSEAU  that  he  would  sell  it.  Now  it  was  done. 
BAROILHET  counted  out  the  complete  sum  with  a  sigh,  saying : 


57 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

"  Paintings  will  be  my  ruin  in  the  end." 

Twenty  years  afterwards,  when  BAROILHET  sold  his  collection, 
Le  Givre  reached  the  price  of  seventeen  thousand  francs. 

"  Well,"  said  JULES  DUPR£,  "  I  hope  I  am  not  the  cause  of  your 
making  a  bad  bargain  ?  " 

"Granted,"  reported  the  vocalist,  proudly;  "but  twenty  years  ago 
you  found  nobody  but  me  in  all  the  streets  of  Paris  who  would  pay 
the  five  hundred  francs." 

In  that  group  of  landscape  painters  of  foremost  rank  whose  des- 
tiny was  to  restore  modern  art  in  France  to  the  magnificent  position 
of  R.UYSDAEL  and  HOBBEMA,  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  is  unques- 
tionably the  one  who  has  gone  furthest  into  the  secret  of  nature.  To 
be  just,  JULES  DUPR£  had  pointed  him  the  way;  but,  when  once 
launched,  ROUSSEAU  had  separated  from  his  comrade  to  pursue  his 
own  destinies.  A  love  for  nature  had  been  formed  in  this  tailor's 
son  in  the  humble  position  which  he  occupied  with  one  of  his  rela- 
tions who  had  a  saw  factory  in  Franche-Comte'.  While  accompany- 
ing his  employer  in  his  professional  tours  in  search  of  growing 
timber,  this  youth,  among  the  trees,  came  to  catch  the  scent  of  the 
grand  principles  of  art,  of  that  theory  on  which  was  to  rise,  later,  the 
mighty  scaffold  of  his  renown.  When  he  got  leave  to  follow  his 
bent,  at  the  age  of  fifteen  years,  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  was  con- 
fided to  an  indifferent  artist  named  R^MOND,  who  passed  for  the 
foremost  landscape  painter  of  the  time.  He  was  taught  what  was 
then  called  grand  art,  the  kind  of  "  historical "  landscape  where 
figures  of  the  Bible  or  of  ancient  history  strayed  through  conven- 
tional scenery.  Those  proud  ones  of  1820,  those  forgotten  ones  to- 
day, took  no  notice  of  the  vegetation  which  surrounded  them  or  of 
the  contemporary  figures  circulating  through  it.  There  would  not 
be  kept  a  single  memory  of  those  painters  now  were  it  not  for  a 
ROUSSEAU,  a  DUPR£,  a  COROT,  a  DELACROIX,  a  MILLET,  who 
suffered  by  them,  and  whose  hapless  story  cannot  be  related  without 
at  least  citing  the  names  of  the  professional  ancestors  who  preceded 
our  group  of  giants.  In  his  hours  of  freedom,  the  young  THEODORE 
ROUSSEAU  would  forget  the  ill  teaching  of  his  master  before  the  in- 
struction derived  from  the  external  creation.  It  may  be  claimed  for 
him  that  he  was  the  pet  pupil  of  nature,  and  a  grateful  and  sensitive 

58 


THEODORE  ROUSSEAU 

pupil,  who  began  to  consecrate  a  lifetime  thenceforth  to  glorifying 
his  benefactress.  It  was  in  the  environs  of  Paris  that  young  ROUS- 
SEAU  would  temper  his  soul  after  the  deleterious  lessons  that  were 
sought  to  be  forced  on  him.  The  illustrious  R^MOND  lost  his  time 
when  he  endeavored  to  convince  this  particular  scholar  that  it  was 
necessary  to  pass  by,  with  calm  and  haughty  indifference,  before  the 
splendors  of  creation  and  contrive  an  art  out  of  counterfeit. 

For  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  the  feeling  for  veritable  art  was  ac- 
companied by  a  profound  love  of  his  native  soil.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  France  was  sufficiently  rich  in  picturesque  sites  to  inspire  a 
painter.  Did  not  RUYSDAEL  derive  a  part  of  his  quality  from  the  very 
fact  that  it  is  the  aspect  of  his  own  country  which  his  art  celebrates  ? 
Was  not  HOBBEMA  an  immortal  landscape  painter  especially  because 
he  had  developed  his  genius  by  the  tender  study  of  the  land  where  he 
was  born  ?  Was  it  not  mere  foolhardiness  to  try  to  construct  by 
theory  a  world  more  fine  than  the  actual  world,  to  disdain  the  glories 
of  our  forests,  the  beauties  of  our  plains,  to  go  astray  in  the  vagaries 
of  rearrangements  of  foliage  such  as  was  never  seen  but  in  the  pictures 
of  our  forefathers  ?  It  was  an  inexplicable  thing  to  the  young  ROUS- 
SEAU that  these  blind  eyes  could  see  nothing  of  the  splendors  which 
surrounded  them.  What,  did  their  hearts  never  beat,  did  they  not 
feel  the  intoxication  of  nature  which  stirred  the  blood  of  this  stripling  ? 
Their  artificial  painting  was  without  soul,  without  emotion ;  the 
grandeurs  of  their  native  soil  escaped  them  ;  the  poesy  of  our  forests 
remained  for  them  a  sealed  book  ;  these  men  had  never  thrilled  to  the 
scenery  of  home.  And  they  called  themselves  artists ! 

At  the  period  of  the  French  Restoration,  the  painters  of  England 
were  the  first  to  rise  in  revolt  against  the  successful  routine  of  histori- 
cal landscape.  But  their  works  were  unknown  in  France ;  it  cannot, 
then,  be  said  that  they  showed  the  road  to  the  great  French  landscape 
artists ;  they  arose  but  a  short  time  before  our  own  ;  they  emerged,  as 
ours  did,  from  the  protest  of  all  honest  hearts  against  the  artificial. 
The  instinct  of  truth  and  the  need  to  strike  deep  into  nature  are 
innate  in  humanity.  Separated  by  the  ocean  and  knowing  nothing  of 
each  other,  the  English  and  the  French  marched  by  two  different 
paths  towards  the  same  end.  In  this  awakening  of  a  sincere  art  in 
either  country,  France  was  destined  to  place  herself  at  last  in  the 

59 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

first  rank,  and  leave  far  behind  her  the  English  school.  Among  the 
great  French  landscape  painters  who  have  not  only  guided  the  national 
art  back  again  to  nature,  but  whose  influence  was  to  be  so  important 
over  the  foreign  schools,  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  occupies  the  highest 
place,  because  he  is  the  most  perfect  master.  The  grand  aspects  of 
landscape  and  its  tenderness  are  equally  familiar  to  him.  He  renders 
with  the  same  mastery  the  smile  of  creation  and  its  terrors,  the  broad 
open  plain  and  the  mysterious  forest,  the  limpid,  sunbright  sky  or 
the  heaping  of  the  clouds  put  to  flight  by  storms,  the  terrible  aspects 
of  landscape  or  those  replete  with  grace.  He  has  understood  all, 
rendered  all  with  equal  genius.  The  great  contemporary  painters 
have  each  a  particular  stamp,  COROT  painting  the  grace,  MILLET  the 
hidden  voice,  JULES  DUPRI£  the  majestic  strength ;  THEODORE 
ROUSSEAU  has  been  by  turns  as  much  a  poet  as  COROT,  as  melan- 
choly as  MILLET,  as  awful  as  DUPRE"  ;  he  is  the  most  complete,  for 
he  embraces  landscape  art  absolutely. 

The  pictures  of  this  genius  were  refused  obstinately  at  the  official 
exhibitions  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Institute.  At  every  start  of 
French  art  in  the  present  century  we  find  them  showing  the  same 
intolerance  in  their  presumption,  ever  wishing  to  shape  the  souls  of 
artists  to  their  own  fancy.  This  Institute  of  the  date  of  1830  is 
responsible  in  our  annals  for  an  unprecedented  persecution.  Piti- 
lessly fanatical  in  the  midst  of  its  own  feebleness,  it  sought  to  strike 
down  those  authentic  spirits  who  were  unwilling  to  be  docile.  Rous- 
SEAU,  penetrated  with  injustice  and  disgusted  to  the  soul,  went  to  ask 
a  refuge  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  and  appealed  to  nature  from 
the  injustice  of  men.  He  knew  that  he  should  find  there  another 
reprobate  of  the  Academicians,  MILLET,  the  dignified  martyr.  Be- 
tween the  two  great  painters  there  began  then  to  strengthen  those 
ties  of  friendship  which  nothing  subsequently  disturbed.  Later, 
when  ROUSSEAU  was  more  lucky  than  MILLET,  he  bethought  him  of 
a  cunning  and  kindly  way  of  coming  to  his  friend's  aid.  From  time 
to  time  he  would  buy  one  of  MILLET'S  works,  letting  him  believe 
that  it  had  been  purchased  by  an  American.  It  is  thus  that  we  still 
find  these  two,  from  their  first  steps  to  the  very  close,  united  by  a 
boundless  sympathy  for  their  mutual  powers,  and  by  a  pathetic 
brotherhood  of  soul.  Their  two  names  are  inseparable,  united  in 

60 


THEODORE   ROUSSEAU 

poverty  and  difficulty  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  We  find 
MILLET  again,  at  the  deathbed  of  ROUSSEAU,  weeping  for  his  best 
friend,  whose  departure  plunged  in  solitude  again  the  great,  mis- 
understood genius  of  Barbizon. 

MILLET  was  never  to  quit  the  little  village  which  he  has  made 
famous.  Less  misanthropic  than  he,  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  was 
constantly  planning  a  removal  to  Paris.  MILLET  avoided  the  city ; 
ROUSSEAU  was  always  returning  thither,  for  he  felt  that  Paris  was 
his  veritable  battlefield,  in  which  he  was  to  conquer  or  die.  We  can 
mark  his  halting  places  by  the  injustices  he  met  with.  When  finally 
received  in  the  Salon,  the  pictures  of  ROUSSEAU  were  placed  in  such 
positions  that  it  was  a  fresh  insult  added  to  so  many  others.  In 
distributing  the  recompenses  this  master  was  passed  by  with  disdain. 
There  were  masterpieces  by  him  already  in  the  galleries  of  all 
the  collectors  when,  at  last,  in  1852,  it  was  decided  to  give  him  the 
decoration  of  Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  It  was  indeed  time, 
for,  when  the  Exposition  Universelle  of  1855  arrived,  and  received 
from  the  contributions  of  our  painter  one  of  its  principal  claims  to 
glory,  it  at  once  avenged  this  great  artist  for  all  his  persecutions. 

But,  however  striking  his  vindication,  it  could  not  expel  from 
ROUSSEAU'S  mind  the  recollection  of  the  coldness  with  which  he  had 
been  treated.  There  remained  a  deep  wound  in  his  bosom  from 
which  he  could  not  be  free ;  we  find  the  trace  of  it  in  the  bitterness 
which  stole  over  him  in  relation  to  his  country.  He  spoke  of  wishing 
to  emigrate  to  England,  to  Holland  or  Germany,  from  all  which 
countries  he  received  constant  testimonials  of  respect.  Amsterdam 
had  named  him  an  honorary  member  of  her  Academy  of  Fine  Arts, 
when  France  would  not  open  to  him  the  doors  of  her  own.  With 
advancing  age  ROUSSEAU  was  attacked  with  that  thirst  for  honorable 
recognition  which  in  an  artist  is  the  first  sign  of  senility.  He  did  not 
carry  stoicism  to  the  end,  like  MILLET.  Though  haughty  and  full  of 
contempt  for  his  detractors,  ROUSSEAU'S  self-love  had  at  length 
received  a  wide  and  deep  wound,  made  up  of  pin-pricks.  We 
find  the  signs  of  his  bitter  feelings  in  his  correspondence,  in  those 
familiar  notes  which  were  published  after  his  death,  and  which 
are  like  the  cries  of  pain  from  the  wounded  heart.  At  this  time  a 
period  of  hesitation  begins  to  be  seen  in  the  work  of  the  great 

61 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

painter.  We  perceive  that  he  begins  to  take  note  of  the  objections 
of  his  enemies;  we  notice  those  infallible  indications  of  an  invalid 
brain,  the  half-expressed  tendencies  of  imitation  visible  in  his  works. 
These  tardy  concessions  are  not  convincing  proofs  that  ROUSSEAU 
wished  to  patch  up  a  reconciliation  with  his  persecutors,  but  his  will 
was  yielding.  The  Salon  of  1864  was  the  witness  of  this  defection,  a 
matter  of  pain  to  ROUSSEAU'S  admirers. 

It  is  proper  to  point  out  this  change  towards  a  style  polished  even 
to  paltriness  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  allowable  to  explain  it. 

The  wife  of  the  artist  had  become  deranged,  and  ROUSSEAU  not- 
withstanding the  advice  of  physicians  and  friends,  was  unwilling  to 
be  separated  from  her;  henceforth  this  admirable  artist,  who  had 
gone  through  so  much  suffering  in  youth,  saw  his  riper  life  darkened 
by  the  incurable  malady  which  had  fastened  upon  his  tenderly 
beloved  companion.  We  see  him  now  begin  to  wander  hither  and 
thither  at  hazard  like  a  soul  in  pain,  flying  from  the  forests  to  the  sea 
without  the  ability  to  fix  himself  anywhere ;  everywhere  the  image  of 
his  wife  follows  and  haunts  him ;  between  nature  and  the  artist's  eye 
this  figure  of  madness  perpetually  places  itself.  The  painter's  hand 
is  still  on  his  work,  but  his  thoughts  are  elsewhere.  So  now  we  have 
this  grand  type  of  disdain  trifling  with  the  minutiae  of  the  outset  of 
art ;  he  is  irritated  by  nothings ;  nervous  disease  seems  to  be  gaining 
on  him.  The  old  animosity  had  not  laid  down  its  weapons  in  the  case 
of  this  grand  and  pure  genius  ;  through  the  renown  which  had  slowly 
accumulated  on  the  name  of  ROUSSEAU  his  detractors  pursued  their 
warfare  of  intrigues  and  vengeance.  For  instance,  ROUSSEAU, 
though  chief  of  the  section  of  the  jury  at  the  Universal  Exposition  of 
1867,  did  not  receive  the  rosette  of  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 
To  him,  to  DUPR£,  and  to  MILLET,  there  were  preferred,  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  official  recompenses,  G^ROME,  PILS  and  FRANCAIS. 

This  time  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU  felt  that  it  was  enough.  We 
can  judge  of  the  extent  of  the  wound  made  in  his  self-esteem  by  this 
oversight  from  a  fragment  of  a  letter  which  was  found  among  his 
papers  after  his  death ;  it  is  a  draught  of  a  protest  to  the  Emperor. 
ROUSSEAU  gave  up  the  idea  of  the  letter;  but  he  had  received  a 
death  wound.  Penetrated  with  disgust,  with  his  brains  in  ebullition, 
his  soul  given  over  to  bitterness,  he  went  back  to  Barbizon  to  die. 

6a 


Eugene  Fromentin 

)N  France  art  lived  for  a  long  time  on  an  Orient  of  imagin- 
ation, where  violent  colors  shocked  each  other  in  the 
sunshine  and  spluttered  with  a  thousand  disorderly 
fires.  The  actual  Orient  is  something  quite  different. 
The  transparence  of  the  atmosphere  stretches  some- 
thing like  a  tint  of  silver  gray,  of  exquisite  delicacy,  over  the  land- 
scape, it  is  soft  and  harmonious,  not  violent  and  showy.  The 
first  time  I  watched  Stamboul  from  the  bridge  of  the  Bosphorus,  at 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  I  was  surprised  at  the  difference  between 
the  Orient  conventional  and  the  Orient  of  reality.  The  first  is  an 
agglomeration  of  violent  tints  where  objects  and  people  are  arranged 
in  silhouettes  on  a  flame-colored  sky;  the  last  is  a  gentle  pene- 
trating harmony.  No  artist  has  better  rendered  the  true  Orient 
in  its  distinction  of  color  than  EUGENE  FROMENTIN.  He  was  not 
satisfied  with  studying  Africa  in  the  products  of  his  predecessors. 
He  had  seen  it  with  eyes  of  his  own,  and  estimated  it  with  his  per- 
sonal thoughts,  as  a  poet  with  melting  heart,  an  observer  with 
delicate  fidelity.  In  this  delightful  artist  the  painter's  talent  was 
enhanced  by  very  decided  literary  aptitude,  and  thus  in  his  works  he 
not  only  paints  Africa,  he  narrates  it.  His  Fantasia,  for  instance,  is 
not  merely  a  delicious  picture  of  an  incomparable  refinement  of  color- 
ing, but  a  page  of  description,  such  as  a  professional  writer  might  have 
given,  with  his  most  individual  and  exhaustive  powers.  In  the  open 
plain,  before  the  Ameer  and  his  escort,  the  Arabs  pass  at  their  fastest 
gallop,  on  their  small  horses,  uttering  clamorous  cries  and  playing 
tricks  with  their  long  guns.  Nothing  can  be  harder  to  execute  than 

63 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

such  a  complicated  canvas,  where  hundreds  of  horsemen  are  crossing 
in  a  bewitched  tumult.  Yet  the  beholder's  eye  can  embrace  this 
passing  human  whirlwind  at  the  first  effort  and  in  every  detail ;  the 
bournouses  float  on  the  wind ;  the  men  are  seen  in  violent  action, 
standing  up  in  their  stirrups  or  lying  along  on  their  horses'  backs ; 
everywhere  is  life,  but  uneasiness  nowhere ;  the  transparence  of  the 
Oriental  sky  floods  the  whole  scene  and  makes  it  a  unit  in  its  multi- 
plied details.  This  Orient  does  not  resemble  any  of  the  African 
pictures  which  were  painted  before  FROMENTIN  ;  it  is  from  the 
artist's  personal  accent  that  the  charm  of  the  work  arises,  and  this 
is  what  gives  the  painter  the  distinguished  rank  which  he  occupies  in 
the  annals  of  the  century. 

The  first  time  I  saw  a  picture  by  FROMENTIN,  at  the  Salon  of 
1863,  I  think,  I  was  immediately  struck  by  the  revelation  of  the  verit- 
able Orient  which  the  painter  had  brought  for  us.  It  was  the  famous 
Arab  Falconer,  which  the  artist  exhibited  at  that  period.  The  horse- 
man was  galloping  through  a  wide  landscape,  carrying  a  falcon  which 
seemed  about  to  fly.  Into  that  simple  scene  FROMENTIN  had  con- 
trived to  put  all  the  grandeur  and  all  the  poetry  of  African  desert 
scenery  and  the  Arab.  The  man  who  could  express  so  many  sensa- 
tions in  such  a  subject  was  evidently  a  poet  himself,  that  is  to  say,  a 
nature  sensitive  and  open  to  all  the  seductions  of  the  animated  crea- 
tion. Criticism  has  often  reproached  FROMENTIN  for  making  too 
many  sacrifices  to  the  literary  side  of  his  subjects,  that  is  to  say,  for 
having  dwelt  too  much  on  the  anecdote  expressed  in  his  pictures. 
But  it  is  not  forbidden  in  art,  that  I  know  of,  to  tell  the  world  the 
peculiarities  of  a  distant  civilization  and  put  before  the  public  eye  its 
veritable  character  with  a  wealth  of  minute  details  and  with  a  grand, 
descriptive  power.  The  utmost  that  can  be  said  of  FROMENTIN  is 
that  he  has  spread  here  and  there,  over  his  own  particular  Orient, 
something  like  a  varnish  of  Parisian  elegance;  this  proceeded  rather 
from  the  naturally  perfect  distinction  of  the  man,  who  conferred  on 
his  Arabs  the  grace  of  his  own  individuality.  In  this  delicate'  artist 
the  brain  was  fundamentally  refined,  so  that  whatever  the  eye 
regarded  assumed  in  the  thoughts  of  FROMENTIN  a  poetical  cast. 
Every  artist  of  worth  finds  it  impossible  to  quite  separate  his  work 
from  his  personal  sensations.  It  is  really  by  this  that  the  great  painter 

64 


EUGENE  FROMENTIN 

is  distinguished  from  the  artist  of  secondary  rank ;  the  latter  is  often- 
est  furnished  merely  with  the  painting  eye  without  the  artist  spirit ; 
he  renders  marvelously  what  he  can  see,  without  adding  the  thrill  of 
the  soul.  Any  art  work  which  does  not  let  us  likewise  look  into  the 
privacy  of  its  author  remains  in  an  inferior  rank,  whatever  may  be  the 
skill  of  the  craftsman.  EUGENE  FROMENTIN  is  revealed  from  head  to 
foot  in  his  pictures.  He  was  a  being  of  rare  distinction,  one  who 
ennobled,  in  some  aspect,  whatever  passed  through  his  mind.  He  has 
regarded  and  painted  the  Orient  like  a  poet.  In  his  Arab  hordes 
camping  in  their  bivouacs  or  crossing  the  desert,  he  has  not  chosen  to 
see  the  reality  of  things  or  the  details  of  their  degradation ;  as  the 
hand  of  the  craftsman  played  over  the  canvas,  the  spirit  of  the  artist 
was  careering  with  a  poet's  flight  through  space.  When  he  paints 
the  Arab  at  rest  with  his  horses  browsing  untethered  beside  the  tent, 
he  is  awed  by  the  mysterious  grandeur  of  such  a  scene,  in  the  desert 
silence,  under  the  limpid  sky  where  the  stars  are  shining.  When  he 
paints  him  in  action,  he  perceives  him  as  a  manifestation  of  the 
tameless  restlessness  of  a  wandering  historical  tribe,  a  being  who  has 
never  learned  to  measure  and  restrain  his  movements.  He  always 
and  everywhere  confers  upon  the  creature  of  the  Orient  the  real  grace, 
the  distinction  of  the  whole  race.  And  the  thoughts  of  the  artist  are 
so  overflowing  with  this  subject  that  frequently  he  finds  the  art  of 
painting  inefficient  before  the  burden  of  all  he  has  to  express.  Then 
he  lays  down  the  palette  and  seats  himself  at  the  table  before  his  ink 
stand ;  he  writes  charming  works  about  the  Orient,  where  at  every 
line  the  painter  reveals  himself  through  the  man  of  letters,  even 
as  his  pictures  reveal  to  us  without  difficulty  the  literary  man  in  the 
painter. 

It  has  often  been  hinted  that  FROMENTIN,  if  he  had  not  been  a 
born  painter,  might  have  been  an  author  of  eminence.  This  is  com- 
pletely to  misunderstand,  in  my  opinion,  the  dual  faculty  of  this  dis- 
tinguished spirit.  What  gives  his  descriptions  of  travel  their  charm 
and  value  is  not  alone  the  literary  style,  attractive  as  it  is,  but  the 
painter's  warm  and  deep-colored  vision  added  to  the  written  part.  A 
writer,  pure  and  simple,  would  have  turned  out  a  more  finished 
literary  form ;  but  a  painter  only  could,  by  his  clairvoyance  of  the 
image  to  be  shown  and  by  the  pictorial  color  of  his  style,  double  the 

65 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

charm  of  a  literary  work  with  that  of  a  painted  one,  and  complete  the 
literature  with  the  picture. 

When  one  had  examined  the  pictures  of  FROMENTIN,  his  person 
could  not  in  any  way  surprise  one  ;  it  was  just  as  I  had  preconceived 
the  artist  that  I  found  him,  when,  for  the  first  time,  but  towards  the 
close  of  his  career,  I  paid  him  a  visit  in  his  studio  in  the  rue  Pigalle. 
He  was  just  the  correct  and  distinguished  man  represented  by  his 
peculiar  form  of  art,  the  painter  who  had  passed  a  great  part  of  his 
life  in  the  solitudes  of  Africa,  and  who  had  brought  back  from  those 
long  absences,  devoted  to  contemplation,  the  reticence  of  the  Oriental. 
He  talked  little,  like  the  members  of  the  race  who  inspired  his  pic- 
tures. The  tribes  who  live  in  the  solitude  of  those  vast  spaces 
absorb  with  age  the  silence  which  surrounds  them.  Their  liveliness 
is  not  noisy  like  ours  ;  they  know  by  experience  that  they  could  not 
fill  the  mighty  distances  with  their  own  echoes.  A  contemplative 
life  makes  man  taciturn  at  the  same  time  that  it  naturally  gives 
him  the  need  to  centre  in  himself.  Among  these  tribes  the  internal 
sensation  is  more  intense  than  ours,  without  betraying  itself  by 
abundance  of  speech  or  exuberance  of  gesture.  We  may  establish 
the  truth  of  this  observation  among  our  own  peasantry,  who  become 
less  excitable  in  proportion  as  the  scenery  of  their  lives  becomes  more 
majestic. 

From  his  long  journeys  in  the  Orient,  where  FROMENTIN  had 
passed  years  in  contemplation  of  his  surroundings,  the  painter 
had  brought  back  to  France  the  silence  of  the  Arab.  His  words 
were  well  weighed  and  deliberate,  his  gestures  measured,  his  voice 
was  low ;  he  would  shut  himself  up  in  the  studio,  where  the  light  was 
admitted  by  one  lofty  window,  letting  the  artist  nurse  his  Oriental  rec- 
ollections without  being  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  the  Paris  throng 
passing  his  house.  The  quantities  of  studies  in  his  work-room  bore 
witness  to  the  assiduity  of  his  toil.  He  had  observed  the  Arab  among 
his  surroundings,  and  in  company  with  his  faithful  friend  the  horse ; 
no  one  has  rendered  with  more  felicity  the  Arab  steed  in  the  grace  of 
his  action.  Whether  resting  or  galloping  in  open  space,  the  Eastern 
horses  of  FROMENTIN  perfectly  show  their  race,  with  their  delicate 
ankles,  their  bearing  so  alert,  their  hides  like  a  changeable  silk,  and 
their  proud  carriage  of  the  little  head  on  the  broad,  powerful  chest. 

66 


EUGENE  FROMENTIN 

It  is  all,  perhaps,  a  trifle  more  delicate  than  nature,  a  little  more  at- 
tractive than  the  stark  fact ;  but  can  an  artist  be  blamed  for  giving  of 
his  own  ideality,  his  inseparable  faculty  of  discernment,  to  the  work 
he  executes?  In  FROMENTIN  the  draughtsman  caught  the  most 
admirable  movements ;  the  colorist  saw  the  matter  with  his  choice 
sense  of  hue ;  and  the  poet,  for  his  part,  added  some  mysterious, 
delicious  reverie  to  the  compositions  borne  off  from  the  suggestions 
of  actuality.  See  The  Camp,  for  instance  ;  you  fancy  you  hear  the 
melancholy  songs  of  the  Arabs  mixed  with  the  whinnyings  of  the 
horses  feeding  unbridled.  Africa  inspired  the  painter  with  enthusiasm, 
not  only  for  painting  ends,  but  he  breathed  its  poetry  and  got  it  into 
his  canvas ;  and  that  is  just  the  essence  of  charm  in  the  incantations 
of  our  charmer. 

The  Orient  of  FROMENTIN  gives  me  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
speak  of  the  Orient  of  FORTUNY,  who  was  represented,  he  too,  by 
several  Arab  scenes  at  the  Exposition  of  the  Hundred  Masterpieces. 
The  celebrated  Spanish  painter  only  valued  the  East  as  a  pretext  for 
his  exercises  of  inimitable  legerdemain,  which  no  one  has  ever  sur- 
passed. But  he  looked  at  Africa  as  an  instrument  for  him  to  play  on, 
and  in  consequence  he  never  saw  but  the  surface.  These  works  of 
his  are  masterpieces  of  execution,  we  agree,  and  by  this  execution  is 
explained  the  amazement  with  which  they  were  greeted  on  first 
appearing.  But  they  are  only  what  may  be  called  the  fugitive  first 
impression,  attached  to  a  canvas  by  a  painter  to  whom  difficulties  of 
work  were  but  sport.  To  graduate  the  attainment  of  these  two 
Orientalists,  I  would  say  that  they  played  the  same  morsel  on  the 
same  instrument,  but  in  two  very  different  fashions.  The  Spanish 
wonder  executed  giddy  variations  on  a  melody  which  the  French 
master  played  simply  with  his  whole  soul.  We  stand  amazed  before 
the  prodigious  ability  of  FORTUNY ;  we  stand  enchanted  by  the  pene- 
trating accents  of  FROMENTIN.  The  Gate  of  the  Alhambra,  by  FOR- 
TUNY, is  a  miracle  of  execution ;  The  Arab  Family  on  a  Journey,  by 
FROMENTIN,  is  a  master-work  of  sentiment. 

The  reader  will  discover,  without  my  insisting  on  it  further,  the 
difference  between  these  two  styles  inspired  in  the  same  scenery. 
With  FORTUNY  the  precision  of  eye  is  irreproachable,  and  the  hand 
never  has  a  moment  of  hesitation.  With  FROMENTIN  we  find  these 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

qualities,  too,  but  deepened  by  the  poet's  thought,  by  that  profound 
impression  which  Africa  had  left  within  his  soul,  and  from  whose 
trace  his  slightest  work  could  not  be  free. 

Still,  we  should  run  the  risk  of  being  unjust  to  the  memory  of 
FORTUNY  if  we  did  not  recollect  that  death  had  mown  down  his 
days  at  an  early  stage,  whereas  FROMENTIN  arrived  at  the  maturity 
of  life,  and  was  permitted  to  utter  the  last  expression  of  which  his 
style  was  capable. 

If  scenery  holds  a  preponderating  place  in  the  works  of  FROMEN- 
TIN it  is  because  before  becoming  one  of  the  most  distinguished  genre 
painters  in  French  art  he  commenced  by  devoting  himself  to  land- 
scape. His  professor  in  this  style  was  an  excellent  artist,  M.  Louis 
CABAT,  now  director  of  the  French  Academy  at  Rome ;  it  is  respect- 
ful to  mention  him  here,  though  his  pupil  resembles  him  in  nothing. 
FROMENTIN  is  one  of  those  predestinate  artists  who  give  an  indi- 
vidual mark  to  their  work.  He  has  been  a  good  deal  imitated,  but  he 
imitates  no  predecessor,  and  it  is  indeed  on  that  account  that  his 
grade  is  marked  with  such  distinctness  among  the  best  of  his  time. 
He  is,  to  give  him  his  right  name,  one  of  the  enchanters. 

Those  who  estimate  the  value  of  a  work  of  art  from  the  scale  of 
the  figures  used  often  to  blame  FROMENTIN  for  always  restricting  his 
works  to  small  proportions  ;  just  as  if  such  and  such  a  tale  of  MER- 
IME"  E'S,  for  instance,  was  not  worth  a  novel  of  several  volumes  by  some 
one  else.  But  even  if  we  admit  that  FROMENTIN  himself  condemned 
as  inferior  his  figures  of  grand  dimensions,  is  it  not  a  proof  of  the 
fine  sense  of  an  artist  when  he  recognizes  and  judges  his  own  faculty 
and  conforms  himself  to  it  ?  Nor  is  what  is  called  grand  art  always 
large  art.  It  was  not  the  comprehension  of  vast  dimensions  which 
this  choice  spirit  lacked.  FROMENTIN  wrote,  about  the  Masters  of 
Yore,  a  volume  of  studies  which  shows  how  thoroughly  his  mind  was 
open  to  the  grand  works  of  past  centuries.  He  was  content  to  admire 
them,  without  attempting  to  imitate  them. 


68 


Charles-Francois  Daubigny 


[UEEN  of  the  Fays,  Destiny  often  reserves  her  richest 
surprises  for  the  artist ;  but  her  last  endowment,  and 
the  best  of  them  all,  is  in  conferring  on  the  painter  the 
power  of  keeping  to  the  close  the  illusions  of  his  youth. 
CHARLES-FRANCOIS  DAUBIGNY  was  one  of  these 
fairies'  nurselings.  At  sixty  years  he  was  as  young  in  spirit  as  when 
he  dipped  into  the  simplest  elements  of  his  art,  under  the  guidance 
of  his  father,  the  distinguished  miniature  painter  of  the  French  Res- 
toration. It  is  to  the  dweller  in  the  open  air,  in  the  perpetual 
strengthening  contact  with  nature,  that  this  freshening  of  the  ideas 
arrives,  flowering  anew  with  every  springtime.  DAUBIGNY  was,  with 
ROUSSEAU  and  COROT,  and  with  the  still  surviving  JULES  DUPR£, 
a  lover  of  those  banks  of  the  Oise  where  a  great  part  of  his  life  flowed 
along;  more  than  the  others,  DAUBIGNY  has  made  us  the  intimates 
of  that  delightful  region,  where  ROUSSEAU  only  painted  a  few  of  his 
works,  but  where  the  whole  glory  of  DAUBIGNY  may  be  said  to 
repose.  He  loved  them  so  that  he  chose  to  live  there  all  his  life. 
His  house  at  Auvers  was  well  known.  There  was  always  a  cordial 
welcome,  but  it  was  better  to  let  him  know  of  your  visit  beforehand, 
or  you  ran  a  great  risk  of  not  finding  him  at  home.  With  the  dawn 
of  day  he  would  disappear,  embarking  in  his  boat,  and  letting  himself 
float  away  at  the  will  of  the  stream ;  when  he  met  a  new  site,  when 
nature  showed  him  an  unexpected  aspect,  the  boat  was  anchored  in 
the  middle  of  the  rivulet,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  landscape  painter 
had  seized,  as  it  were,  on  the  wing  the  impressions  of  the  scene.  We 
might  say  that  all  his  pictures  were  thus  the  intoxications  of  his 

69 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

instants  of  enthusiasm,  the  moments  when  the  brain  of  the  artist  was 
enfevered  by  nature.  He  was  a  marvelous  improvisator,  and  his 
finest  pictures,  those  to  which  the  highest  value  was  attached  by  the 
best  judges,  were  thus  touched  off  in  the  heat  of  the  first  impulse. 

The  dwellers  on  the  banks  of  the  Oise  and  the  Seine  knew  him 
well.  The  ambulant  landscape  painter  was  more  especially  designated 
by  the  title  of  the  "  Captain,"  a  rank  which  vastly  flattered  him,  for 
by  dint  of  living  on  the  water  he  had  acquired  a  sailor's  roughness 
and  a  sailor's  pride  in  good  navigation.  The  boat  used  by  DAUBIGNY 
was  arranged  for  long  voyages ;  the  cooking  was  done  on  board ; 
there  was  a  good  wine  cellar ;  you  drank  deep  and  you  worked  hard. 
The  sketches  accumulated ;  and  when  winter  was  come,  DAUBIGNY 
returned  to  Paris  provisioned  with  the  booty  of  art  and  nature,  the 
landscapes  which,  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  collectors  and  dealers 
battled  for.  How  many  times  I  have  seen  him  thus,  in  his  latter 
days,  when  his  hair  had  grown  white,  mild  and  grave,  good-naturedly 
gratified  and  wearied  at  the  same  time  by  the  throng  of  visitors,  per- 
fectly affable,  but  inflexible,  and  dismissing  an  intruder  with  some 
whimsical  bit  of  rudeness  when  he  was  attacked  in  his  artistic  pride ! 
Little  adapted  for  social  civilities,  DAUBIGNY  regretted  the  good  old 
times  when  the  dealer  stole  discreetly  into  the  painter's  studio  and 
carried  off  his  purchase  at  a  reasonable  price ;  but  he  was  forced  to 
capitulate  with  modern  customs  and  keep  his  studio  open  to  the 
invaders  one  day  in  the  week.  From  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
procession  began,  and  we  may  own  that  for  DAUBIGNY  it  was  a 
veritable  torture ;  the  collectors  would  usually  pass  blindly  the 
sketches  of  pictures  to  which  the  artist  properly  gave  the  greatest 
value ;  the  dealer  always  asked  for  the  same  thing,  and  caused  to 
glisten  in  his  eyes  the  money  question,  which,  after  all,  had  its  im- 
portance. Upon  which  the  haughty  artist,  irritated  in  his  very 
marrow,  cried  out  one  day  before  the  awe-struck  visitors : 

"  Let  me  alone.  The  best  pictures  are  the  unsalable  ones !" 
This  phrase  deserves,  in  my  opinion,  a  long  discussion.  It  tells 
all  in  a  few  words ;  the  artist's  rebellion  against  fashion,  which  tried 
to  force  him  into  one  eternal  style,  and  the  artist's  style  which  refused 
to  recognize  the  public  vogue  as  the  adequate  compensation  of  a 
painter.  He  would  not  deem  that  the  appreciation  of  a  work  of  art 

70 


CHARLES-FRANCOIS  DAUBIGNY 

might  rest  on  any  other  consideration  than  art-quality.  What !  there 
were  then  marketable  picures  and  pictures  not  marketable  ?  Alas ! 
yes,  and  the  proof  was  that  magnificent  large-scale  canvases  remained 
on  the  artist's  hands,  while  people  struggled  to  get  others  of  a  more 
cheerful  aspect  which  were  not  their  equals. 

All  this  perplexed  the  "  Captain,"  who  was  not  really  happy  except 
when  in  his  boat,  afar  from  man.  When  young  a  journey  to  Italy 
was  DAUBIGNY'S  dream ;  but  he  came  back  very  much  confused, 
bringing  home  nothing  worth  while  from  his  inspection  of  the  picture 
galleries.  In  the  scenery  of  his  native  land,  which  revealed  itself  the 
more  seductively  to  his  mind  because  he  had  long  been  separated 
from  it,  DAUBIGNY  found  instantly  his  proper  path;  this  path  was  in 
the  ground  just  under  his  eye,  in  the  charm  of  the  sun-bright  stream- 
let, or  in  the  mysterious  beauties  that  came  on  with  the  night  when 
nature  is  penciled  in  its  grand  outlines.  At  twenty-three  years  of  age 
success  arrived,  never  more  to  forsake  him.  The  public  was  struck 
by  the  novel  and  perfectly  individual  note  struck  by  the  artist,  by  the 
tender  accuracy  of  his  color  and  by  the  energy  of  his  handling.  He 
brought  to  landscape  painting  the  realistic  keynote  in  the  best  sense 
of  the  term — that  is  to  say,  the  matching  of  real  objects  by  a  deeply 
felt  stroke,  so  that,  with  each  new  sensation,  freshly  breathed  in  the 
presence  of  nature,  he  shifted  his  art;  in  one  picture,  where  the 
painter  has  paused  to  smile  at  the  perfect  grace  of  a  landscape,  his 
painting  is  full  of  the  lambent  flatteries  which  accompany  a  beam  of 
the  sun  in  the  springtime ;  in  another,  where  the  artist  has  found 
himself  astounded  before  the  grandeur  of  a  scene — as  in  the  admirable 
view  of  the  Chateau  Gaillard—\it  rises  to  the  calm  height  of  greatest 
art;  when  the  landscape  had  struck  him  especially  by  its  general 
planes,  he  flung  it  on  the  canvas  in  those  marvelous  sketches  which 
the  artist  refused  to  carry  on  further  because  he  had  nothing  to  add 
to  this  massy  statement ;  at  other  times  he  insinuates  himself  into  the 
details  as  exhaustively  as  possible  and  refines  on  his  work  to  the 
utmost  limits  of  execution.  In  this  way  the  career  of  DAUBIGNY  is 
based  on  the  simple  and  truthful  art-theory  that  the  handling  of  a 
picture  ought  to  reflect  the  mood  felt;  that  the  painter  can  no  more 
work  perpetually  in  the  same  style  than  the  writer  can  employ  an 
unvarying  form  for  the  play  of  his  thought. 

7* 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

Yet  success  did  not  come  without  struggles  to  DAUBIGNY.  He 
conquered  it  slowly  in  the  succession  of  picture  exhibitions ;  he  had 
his  ups  and  downs ;  he  was  energetically  contested,  and  the  master- 
pieces of  this  master  artist  seemed  to  some  people  only  sketches.  The 
public  characterized  as  "  unfinished  "  this  free  and  astonishing  mas- 
tery of  execution  so  long  misunderstood.  DAUBIGNY  let  them  talk 
and  pursued  his  way  steadily.  Was  he  not  the  supreme  master  of 
his  theory  ?  And  by  what  authority,  save  that  of  the  endless  artistic 
routine,  can  an  artist  be  directed  to  continue  his  labor  when  he 
believes  that  he  has  carried  it  to  the  pitch  desired  ?  Why  force  a 
painter  to  finish  his  canvas  more  highly  when  he  has  judged  it  to  em- 
body his  final  expression  ?  It  is  fundamentally  stupid  to  class  works 
of  art  as  sketches  and  pictures.  There  are  good  things  and  bad 
things.  Every  time  that  the  critic  tries  to  go  further  than  this  radical 
classification  in  judging  a  work  by  a  great  man  he  runs  the  risk  of  a 
mistake. 

His  pictures  followed  each  other  accordingly  at  the  Salon,  and  for 
a  long  time  he  accompanied  them  by  etchings  ;  for  DAUBIGNY  loved 
this  branch  of  engraving,  which  in  every  age  has  been  the  passion  of 
genuine  artists.  It  was  only  towards  1860  that  DAUBIGNY,  after 
twenty  years  of  labor,  arrived  at  his  complete  renown  ;  then  he  took 
definitive  rank  among  the  greatest  landscape  painters  of  his  time. 

Now  that  the  artist  felt  himself  in  port,  his  ambition  swelled  with 
his  success.  Great  subjects  arose  to  his  mind.  Between  the  pictures 
called  easel  pictures,  he  undertook  works  majestic  in  scale  while 
simple  in  conception,  thinking  nothing  of  the  sale.  It  was  for  himself 
he  worked,  for  his  own  artistic  satisfaction.  And  it  was  of  these  works, 
begotten  independently  of  all  practical  cares,  that  the  old  painter  cried 
that  the  best  pictures  are  the  unsalable  ones.  It  made  little  difference 
to  him.  It  was  for  his  own  private  satisfaction  and  for  a  protest 
against  the  fashion  which  would  have  imprisoned  him  always  between 
the  same  banks  of  the  Oise  that  he  undertook  The  Apple  Trees  in 
Blossom,  The  Field  of  Poppies  and  The  Grand  Moonrise,  admirable 
works,  which  still,  by  their  size  or  choice  of  subject,  were  hard  to  get 
rid  of.  We  may  declare  of  DAUBIGNY  that,  though  he  always  put  his 
whole  art  in  whatever  he  did,  the  best  part  of  his  soul  gushed  into 
these  grand  works,  which  were  not  conceived  in  view  of  speculation. 

72 


CHARLES-FRANCOIS   DAUBIGNY 

Arrived  at  the  maturity  of  age,  admired  by  all  the  artists,  solicited 
by  collectors,  overrun  by  the  dealers,  this  exquisite  artist  remained 
pure  and  simple ;  here  is  the  secret  of  his  juvenility  of  workmanship, 
always  reflecting  the  primitive  sensation  to  a  degree  astonishing  in  a 
man  arrived  among  the  sixties.  THEODORE  ROUSSEAU,  weary  with 
ill  health,  made  a  compromise  with  his  principle  of  art  at  the  last ; 
COROT,  so  long  neglected,  let  himself  be  tempted,  towards  his  seven- 
tieth year,  into  hasty  production ;  DAUBIGNY,  if  not  the  strongest,  at 
least  the  firmest  of  them  all,  aimed  at  a  loftier  point  of  sight  the 
older  he  grew.  He  felt  real  regret  in  noticing  the  hasty  work  of 
COROT,  whom  he  loved  above  all  others,  and  blamed  him  for  it  with 
the  earnestness  of  a  mortification  that  was  not  unmixed  with  a  shade 
of  bitterness. 

On  two  or  three  occasions  when  I  found  myself  in  DAUBIGNY'S 
company  in  moments  of  expansion  he  opened  his  whole  soul,  always 
young,  tender  and  affectionate.  Beyond  a  doubt  he  was  content  with 
the  situation  he  had  acquired  and  the  distance  he  had  made.  Now 
he  dwelt  on  the  culmination  of  his  career ;  he  was  just  ready  to  touch 
the  happy  moment  when  he  could  live  henceforth  for  glory,  after 
having  assured  the  future  of  his  family ;  he  would  only  paint  great 
canvases,  "  those  which  are  unsalable."  In  these  intimate  unbosom- 
ings  the  face  of  the  famous  painter  was  transformed ;  his  heart 
warmed  itself  at  the  touch  of  his  juvenile  ambition,  as  nature  renews 
consciousness  under  the  spring  sunshine. 

It  was  delightful  to  note  the  renewal  of  youth  in  a  man  of  his 
age.  With  his  elbows  on  the  table,  DAUBIGNY  would  rest  his  chin 
on  his  two  open  hands.  He  must  have  been  handsome  formerly,  and 
even  yet  his  head  had  that  beauty  of  old  age  when  the  eye  is  thought- 
ful and  tender,  which  is  like  the  radiance  of  a  fine  soul.  The  unlucky 
rheumatisms  which  he  had  caught  on  the  river,  from  living  in  damp 
situations,  had  engraved  the  gentle  face  with  deep  lines  of  pain ;  the 
disease  from  which  he  so  suffered  was  always  coming  back  to  the 
charge  after  a  moment's  respite,  and  was  bound  to  get  the  better  of 
the  resisting  powers  of  the  famous  artist ;  he  grew  old  in  advance  of 
his  age.  In  the  midst  of  pain  he  did  not  lose  sight  of  his  art,  the  art 
which  had  kindled  the  adolescent,  which  had  been  the  abiding  thought 
of  the  man,  whose  mind  was  still  musing  on  novel  effort  at  the  time 

73 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

when  the  body  was  already  laid  low.  We  remember  the  last  word  of 
GOETHE,  who  died  with  the  cry  for  "Light!"  DAUBIGNY,  on  his 
deathbed,  uttered  an  expression  which  deserves  to  go  down  to  pos- 
terity, for  it  was  the  representative  voice  of  a  painter  going  into 
eternity  with  a  final  thought  of  that  which  was  the  aim  of  his  life. 
The  great  landscape  painter  crowned  his  long,  fine  career  with  an 
admirable  saying,  depicting  the  artist  better  than  the  critic  could  do  in 
undertaking  to  celebrate  him.  We  are  told  that,  at  the  last  hour,  a 
dying  person  will  see  instantaneously  the  whole  life  he  has  lived,  as  in 
a  mirror  of  the  past.  The  end  of  DAUBIGNY  seems  like  a  confirma- 
tion of  this  notion.  He  did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  approaching 
result ;  he  faced  it  without  weakness,  without  bravado,  or  rebellion, 
or  discouragement  at  the  eternal  problem  of  death.  Among  his  last 
spasms  for  breath,  his  thoughts  sought  his  rivals  in  renown  who  had 
gone  before  him. 

"  Adieu,"  he  said,  "  adieu,  I  am  going  to  see  up  there  whether 
friend  COROT  has  found  me  any  new  subjects  for  landscape  painting." 

In  this  final  thought  for  his  art  the  last  sigh  of  DAUBIGNY  was 
drawn.  Thus,  at  forty  years'  distance,  death,  which  struck  him  down 
in  1878,  found  the  artist  of  seventy  still  thinking  of  artistic  discovery, 
as  at  the  epoch  of  his  first  contribution  to  the  Salon,  which  was 
as  early  as  1838.  Death  seemed  to  the  great  artist  the  great  libera- 
tion ;  and  he  died  with  a  smile,  in  the  hope  of  a  new  life  where, 
among  his  famous  friends,  he  could  finally  realize  the  dream  of  his 
ambition  and  paint  the  pictures  that  never  should  be  sold. 


74 


A.  G.  Decamps 

ITHOGRAPHY,  when  introduced  in  France  under  the 
Restoration,  set  all  the  artists  burning  with  a  perfect 
passion  for  so  novel  a  vehicle.  The  fatty  body  of  the 
lithographic  chalk  gave  startling  effects  on  the  stone ; 
and,  better  still,  no  middleman  came  between  the 
artist's  inspiration  and  his  executive  in  reproducing  his  work.  It  was, 
thanks  to  lithography,  that  RAFFET,  for  example,  among  many 
others,  was  able  to  throw  off,  on  stone,  the  innumerable  compositions 
which  made  his  name  famous  and  his  talent  popular.  Thanks  to  it 
again,  GAVARNI  was  able  to  reveal  himself  as  an  unapproached 
master  in  his  line.  No  engraver,  however  able  he  may  be,  can  give 
in  a  copy  the  impulsive  charm  of  the  design  executed  by  the  artist 
himself.  The  mechanical  processes  by  which  lithography  has  been 
killed  have  only  half  filled  its  place.  They  give  you,  if  you  will,  the 
exact  reproduction  of  the  work,  but  without  the  artist's  feeling,  com- 
municated to  the  stone  over  which  his  crayon  played  in  the  creative 
fever.  Born  in  1803,  the  young  DECAMPS  found  in  the  lithographic 
process  a  field  open  to  his  imagination  and  a  resource  for  his 
slender,  youthful  purse.  Like  every  predestinated  artist,  the  taste  for 
art  had  come  to  him  without  effort,  if  it  was  not  in  resisting  the 
instruction  in  artistic  vice  which  he  received,  first  from  a  humble 
painter,  M.  BouCHOT,  next  from  ABEL  DE  PUJOL,  who  was  really 
somebody  under  the  Restoration,  while  waiting  to  be  nobody  at 
all  under  LOUIS-PHILIPPE.  I  do  not  deny  the  usefulness  of  a  kind 
of  primary  education  in  art ;  but,  if  we  will  but  take  notice  that  the 
lesson  inculcated  is  always  a  paltry  thing  when  it  is  not  augmented 


75 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

by  a  man's  individual  discoveries,  we  need  only  study  the  lives  of  the 
grand  painters  to  whom  this  work  is  dedicated  to  see  that  not  one  of 
their  teachers  can  boast  of  having  had  the  slightest  influence  over 
their  careers. 

An  artist  worthy  of  the  name  always  feels  the  stir  of  grand  pass- 
ing events.  DECAMPS  felt  himself  inspired  by  the  Greek  struggle  for 
independence,  which  aroused  the  emotions  of  the  whole  world,  while 
at  the  same  time  it  evoked  in  every  form  of  the  arts  the  rage  for  the 
Orient. 

With  his  meagre  resources,  he  hurried  off,  his  head  full  of  antique 
Greece,  his  soul  burning  with  ardor  for  the  heroism  of  Greece  in  the 
present.  His  instinct  as  a  colorist  was  his  salvation,  artistically 
speaking,  in  this  perilous  acquaintance,  whence  a  man  less  gifted,  an 
artist  less  original,  might  have  brought  back  some  fresh  revival  of  the 
classical  antique.  Once  in  Asia  Minor,  the  art  of  dreams  vanished 
before  the  realities  of  things.  DECAMPS  saw  the  modern  man  of  the 
East  in  his  land  of  sunshine ;  he  decided  that  he  was  but  little  like 
the  fanciful  Eastern  who  strutted  through  academic  art  with  masked- 
ball  costumes  on  his  back. 

His  first  contribution  to  the  Salon  of  1831  had  prodigious  success. 
His  Turkish  scenes  had  been  observed  and  studied  at  their  home  in 
the  presence  of  the  race.  It  was  painting  which  resembled  no  one 
else,  no  previous  style ;  it  came  from  the  artist's  heart,  and  made  a 
revelation.  Never  had  painter  fastened  sunshine  on  canvas  with 
such  intensity.  It  was  not  made  brilliant  simply  by  the  lively  con- 
trast of  black  shadow  with  the  vivid  lights,  but  it  glowed  in  the  warm 
exhalation  enveloping  the  figures  and  objects.  From  that  moment 
DECAMPS  received  his  own  rank  in  the  group  of  artists  of  1830,  as  we 
call  them  ;  he  became  the  chief  of  a  new  school  which  dashed  in  his 
train  among  the  enchantments  of  the  East.  What  gave  an  additional 
charm  to  his  work  was  the  peculiar  method  of  the  painter,  with  its  fine 
breadth  and  an  energy  so  immense  that  it  was  proclaimed  a  miracle. 
To  give  greater  relief  to  his  white  walls,  as  they  basked  in  the  sun, 
DECAMPS  had  a  way  of  building  them  up  as  it  were  with  his  paints ; 
by  a  technic  of  his  own  invention,  he  piled  up  his  structures  in  tmpasto, 
allowed  them  to  dry,  scraped  them  down  with  a  razor,  and  scumbled 
his  walls  with  glazes,  taking  clever  advantage  of  all  accidents ;  it  was 


A.  G.  DECAMPS 

a  curious  manner  of  working,  which  while  partaking  of  trickery,  really 
made  the  walls  of  DECAMPS'S  paintings  as  solid  as  masonry.  This 
peculiar  manner  of  painting  certain  surfaces  was  much  imitated,  and 
COURBET  afterwards  adopted  it,  kneading  his  paint  upon  the  canvas 
with  a  palette-knife. 

The  Walls  of  Rome  and  The  Village  Street  at  the  exhibition  of 
the  Hundred  Masterpieces  were  specimens  of  this  singular  method  of 
DECAMPS,  as  The  Coming  Out  of  Schcool  in  its  time  was  considered 
the  most  brilliant  specimen  of  his  pictures  from  the  Orient.  The 
fixed  predilection  which  made  him  recur  unceasingly  to  the  Bible  for 
his  subjects  was  shown  in  The  Good  Samaritan,  which  is  a  remark- 
able painting.  Still  the  attentive  student  of  the  works  of  DECAMPS 
is  obliged  to  confess  that  he  sometimes  overdoes  his  violent  system  of 
contrasts,  showing  more  vigor  than  delicacy.  This  reproach,  made 
occasionally  by  the  critics  of  his  own  day,  even  among  the  warm 
praise  they  awarded  him,  was  especially  disagreeable  to  the  artist. 
DECAMPS,  who  had  one  of  those  energetic  faces  which  you  take  at 
first  sight  for  a  soldier's,  was  easily  thrown  off  his  balance.  Another 
point  which  made  him  suffer  was,  that  less  importance  was  given  to 
his  historical  compositions  than  to  his  Turkish  subjects. 

After  his  first  success,  DECAMPS  was  classed  permanently  as  a 
painter  of  the  Orient.  There  is  no  doubt  but  that  his  powerful 
influence  was  especially  marked  in  the  Eastern  groups  of  DIAZ. 

His  ideas  came  to  DECAMPS  with  great  facility,  and  without 
apparent  effort ;  they  surged  up  in  his  sketches  with  giddy  swiftness. 
As  for  the  painter  himself,  he  was  contemplative.  He  retained  a 
kind  of  dreamy  mood  derived  from  that  early  youth  passed  in  the 
fields,  and  this  turn  for  reverie  changed  his  studies  of  the  modern 
Orient  into  figures  of  Biblical  legend.  It  was  painful  to  him,  amid  all 
his  success,  to  be  held  to  the  style  of  Eastern  anecdote.  Already  he 
had  thrown  out  his  famous  Battle  of  the  Cimbri,  in  the  midst  of  his 
manufacture  of  little  canvases.  And  now  he  appeared  unexpectedly 
in  the  Salon  with  his  admirable  charcoal  drawings  derived  from  the 
history  of  SAMSON,  and,  a  little  later,  with  a  series  of  designs  inspired 
by  the  New  Testament.  The  artistic  success  of  these  veritable  gems 
was  not  small ;  yet  the  public  was  less  content.  The  subjects  bursting 
with  the  sunshine  of  the  East  were  nearer  its  intelligence  than  these 

77 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

austere  compositions,  among  which  we  should  reckon  that  of  SAM- 
SON burying  himself  in  the  ruins  of  the  temple  with  the  Philistines  as 
that  in  which  the  soul  of  DECAMPS  uttered  its  highest  aspiration 
towards  grand  art. 

Like  all  the  great  painters  of  his  set,  DECAMPS  was  quiet  and 
simple.  These  men  were  seldom  met  in  the  world.  The  crowd  only 
saw  their  results.  Their  personality  was  shut  up  in  the  privacy  of 
their  existence.  They  carried  so  far  the  fear  of  being  molested  in 
their  originality  by  reports  from  without,  that  they  lived  hermetically 
sealed  in  studios  unopened  but  to  the  initiated.  Like  DELACROIX  and 
MILLET,  DECAMPS  retired  afar  from  Paris  ;  the  solitude  of  the  coun- 
try charmed  and  allured  him ;  there  he  had  got  the  first  scent  of  the 
art  principle,  and  it  was  his  constant  dream  to  go  back  to  the  home 
of  his  earliest  youth,  perhaps  because  as  an  artist  he  was  discontented 
at  not  receiving  the  grand  rank  of  historical  painter,  perhaps  because 
his  mind  was  world-weary. 

At  last  DECAMPS  exiled  himself  away  from  Paris ;  he  only  appeared 
there  on  flying  visits ;  his  most  intimate  friends  dared  not  introduce  a 
stranger ;  he  had  formed  the  list  of  his  forbears ;  nothing  would 
induce  him  to  enlarge  it,  for  any  candidate  whatever.  A  part  of  his 
life  was  passed  on  horseback,  all  alone  in  the  grand  alleys  of  Fon- 
tainebleau,  followed  by  those  faithful  dogs  he  has  so  admirably  painted. 
When  we  pierce  to  the  bottom  of  these  retirements  from  life  on  the 
part  of  renowned  artists,  we  always  find  the  same  reason,  the  wound- 
ing of  an  often  exaggerated  self-esteem.  The  place  which  his  contem- 
poraries had  made  in  their  consideration  for  our  painter  was  not  big 
enough  for  him.  The  spotless  glory  of  certain  of  his  rivals  molested  him. 
He  confessed,  in  a  sort  of  autobiographical  screed,  that  one  of  his 
friends,  the  Baron  d'lvry,  had  the  power  to  draw  him  out  often  from 
his  apathy,  his  disgust.  It  is  a  confession  explaining  the  state  of  his 
mind  and  the  reason  why  he  isolated  himself.  But  does  not  this  very 
bitterness  plead  in  favor  of  the  aspiring  artist  who,  instead  of  batten- 
ing in  the  luxury  of  the  praises  he  had  won,  was  trying  to  lift  himself 
to  something  higher  than  aught  he  had  yet  done  ? 

Destiny  did  not  choose  that  this  fine  artist  should  have  an  old  age, 
isolated  and  desolate.  While  riding  to  hounds,  a  skittish  mount 
belonging  to  DECAMPS  became  uncontrollable,  and  threw  him  so 

78 


A.  G.  DECAMPS 

violently  against  a  tree  that  the  painter  died  three  hours  after  the  acci- 
dent. French  art  of  the  first  half  of  our  century  bears  inscribed  the 
name  of  DECAMPS  in  its  Peerage,  to  complete  the  roll  of  the  elect  of 
born  painters — those  who  cause  the  "  phalanx  of  1830  "  to  be  owned  as 
one  of  the  finest  groups  of  superior  artists  of  which  any  epoch  can 
boast. 


79 


Constant  Troyon 

COUNTED  in  this  admirable  group  of  painters,  which 
throws  such  lustre  on  French  art,  are  men  of  foremost 
rank  in  every  style.  Historical  painters,  character 
painters,  landscape  painters,  imaginative  painters,  men 
of  fantasy  and  men  of  mind,  technists  of  the  palette 
and  single-hearted  observers  of  nature — all  these  men  form  in  their 
assemblage  a  kind  of  quintessence  of  the  art-spirit  of  France.  In 
these  rapid  sketches  the  reader  has  successively  seen  what  kind  of 
second  and  third-rate  professors  have  secured  in  the  eye  of  history 
the  glory  of  attending  to  the  early  lispings  of  our  heroes.  The  latter, 
without  exception,  formed  themselves  by  the  direct  contact  of  nature, 
not  till  after  having  shaken  off  the  influences  which  weighed  upon 
their  unfortunate  youth.  I  have  named  one  by  one  the  subalterns 
charged  with  the  primary  artistic  education  of  these  painters,  all  des- 
tined to  show  the  mark  of  genius  in  one  kind  or  another.  The  first 
instructor  of  TROYON  was  named  RIOCREUX,  a  feeble  light,  like  all 
those  pretenders  who  thought  they  could  subdue  to  their  own  glimmer 
the  great  stars  which  were  rising  over  French  art.  Like  JULES 
DUPRE",  the  grand  animal  painter  TROYON  passed  his  first  youth  in  a 
porcelain  factory ;  like  that  fine  landscapist,  he  played  the  prelude  to 
his  glory  with  just  the  kind  of  work  which  contradicts  grand  art  by  its 
timorous  industry.  The  superb  executant  of  innumerable  master- 
pieces grew  pale  over  his  dishes  until  the  day  when  he  divined  his  real 
mission  and  took  his  flight. 

CONSTANT  TROYON  was  not  twenty  years  of  age  when  he  bade 
an  eternal  farewell  to  the  Sevres  factory.    Where  should  he  go? 

80 


CONSTANT    TROYON 

Straight  ahead,  without  any  settled  course ;  everywhere  that  Nature 
revealed  herself  to  his  young  intelligence  he  made  halt.  When  he  felt 
hungry,  he  offered  his  services  to  the  first  potter  whom  he  encountered 
on  his  route,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  earned  a  few  weeks'  freedom  at 
this  humble  toil,  he  grasped  again  his  staff  and  his  color-box  and 
marched  further  on.  Now  workman  and  now  artist,  he  appealed  in 
this  fashion  to  the  modest  taskwork  of  the  china  painter  for  the  means 
to  await  the  day  when  he  should  be  a  real  artist. 

Thus  we  find  for  all  these  men  the  same  kind  of  boyhood,  dis- 
turbed by  the  struggle  for  the  daily  crust.  With  the  exception  of 
DELACROIX  and  COROT,  they  were  all  forced  to  conquer  from 
privation  the  right  to  shed  the  loftiest  artistic  glory  over  their  native 
land.  TROYON,  for  his  part,  only  caught  at  a  rather  late  date  the 
perception  of  his  true  pathway.  There  is  nothing  in  his  first  manner 
which  could  make  us  foresee  the  rank  he  was  one  day  to  assume ;  his 
paintings  bore  trace  for  many  years  of  the  painful  labor  of  designing 
on  porcelain,  as  the  slave  who  has  fought  out  his  liberty  carries  the 
scars  of  the  bamboo  which  used  to  plough  his  flesh.  It  needed  ten 
years  of  TROYON'S  life  to  make  him  forget  what  had  been  taught  him 
as  a  lad  ;  it  was  only  little  by  little  and  very  slowly  that  the  artist  was 
able  to  rid  himself  of  the  influences  of  his  teaching  at  Sevres. 

Success  came  hesitatingly  and  painfully.  Not  to  speak  of  his  early 
landscapes,  which  do  not  count  in  his  achievement,  the  most  important 
canvases  passed  unnoticed.  Life  was  hard  for  the  young  landscape 
painter.  COROT,  ROUSSEAU,  JULES  DUPR£,  DIAZ  and  DAUBIGNY 
marched  in  the  van  of  the  movement.  Through  the  splendors,  still 
disdained,  of  their  painting,  MILLET  would  throw  off  a  landscape, 
from  time  to  time,  in  a  note  of  severity  and  melancholy.  TROYON 
joined  in  the  step,  as  a  conscript  takes  the  road  behind  a  squad  of 
veteran  soldiers.  The  first  years  of  the  painter  were  dogged  by 
poverty,  which  saturated  his  spirit  with  a  bitterness  from  which  it 
never  got  free.  Arrived  later,  by  the  evolution  of  his  style,  to  renown 
and  wealth,  TROYON  preserved  the  gloom  of  these  humble  beginnings. 
In  this  he  was  at  fault.  Did  he  not  share  the  public  neglect  with  the 
first  landscape  painters  of  the  age  ?  Had  he  suffered  more,  and  more 
unjustly,  than  the  chiefs  of  his  company  ?  And  then,  if  I  must  express 
my  full  opinion,  would  the  canvases  of  TROYON,  as  a  landscapist, 

81 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

grandly  brushed  as  they  are,  have  sufficed  to  establish  his  high 
renown  ?  It  was  accident  and  a  journey  to  Holland  which  revealed 
to  TROYON  his  true  mission,  that  of  an  animal  painter  of  the  first 
rank,  supported,  this  time,  by  a  landscapist  of  very  great  talent,  but 
not  the  equal  of  the  masters. 

With  this  development  of  the  artist  which  promptly  gave  him  his 
rank,  success  came  to  him  rapidly.  At  a  distance  of  two  centuries 
TROYON  continued  the  traditions  of  the  celebrated  Dutch  animal 
painters  without  imitating  them.  PAUL  POTTER  was  to  find  a  suc- 
cessor worthy  of  him.  In  his  journey  into  Holland  TROYON  had 
studied  the  works  of  the  grand  master,  and  he  took  his  line  at  once. 
Why  had  he  not  perceived  before  that  the  art  of  the  animal  painter 
offered  inexhaustible  resources  to  his  rare  endowments  as  a  colorist, 
while  it  still  allowed  him  to  remain  a  landscapist  of  lofty  value  ? 

The  surprise  of  the  public  at  the  advent  of  a  great  animal  painter 
was  no  greater  than  that  of  the  artist  himself  at  being  as  universally 
praised  as  he  had  been  neglected  before.  The  special  line  to  which 
TROYON  now  devoted  himself  was  at  that  time  forgotten ;  it  only  sur- 
vived in  two  celebrated  Belgians,  KOEKKOEK  and  VERBOEKHOVEN, 
the  pets  of  all  Europe,  but  now  already  left  among  the  neglected  ones, 
if  not  among  the  victims  of  oblivion ;  the  one  painted  little  animals  in 
landscapes  frigidly  brushed,  the  other  was  never  tired  of  curling  the 
wool  of  his  lambkins  with  the  tenderness  of  a  barber  entrusted  with  the 
head  of  a  court  beauty ;  a  finical  art  in  which  the  childish,  pitiful 
finish  took  away  all  the  life  which  existed  to  a  certain  extent  in  the 
original  design.  Fancy  the  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  TROYON'S 
animals,  with  their  large  life,  their  broad  brush-work  in  deep,  pure 
colors,  studied  with  a  discriminating  sympathy  for  every  race  and 
species,  and  moving  through  landscapes  of  a  master's  creation.  These 
were  not  the  fashionable  stuffed  beasts,  but  living,  moving  herds, 
stretching  themselves  luxuriously  in  the  sun,  breathing  the  breezes  cool 
with  morning,  or  huddling  close  together  at  the  approach  of  the  storm. 
The  great  technical  skill  of  TROYON,  his  matchless  control  of  his 
craft,  allowed  him  to  grapple  with  all  the  effects  of  nature.  In  one  of 
his  subjects  exhibited  among  the  Hundred  Masterpieces  he  has  painted 
a  rainbow  struck  out  from  clouds  charged  with  electricity,  while  on 
the  other  side  the  burst  of  sunshine  falls  upon  a  grand  red  spotted 

82 


CONSTANT   TROYON 

heifer  enjoying  the  warm  rays.  The  Cow  at  the  Drinking  Place,  with 
The  Valley  of  the  Toucques,  or  The  Ferry,  are  so  many  masterpieces 
of  the  style,  bespeaking  TROYON'S  vivid  power,  his  enthralling  charm 
as  a  colorist. 

This  new  line,  then,  began  the  true  career  of  TROYON,  which  was 
to  make  him  so  illustrious.  Money  commenced  to  pour  in,  too,  along 
with  honor,  yet  without  consoling  the  painter  for  the  poverty  and 
neglect  of  the  past.  Bitterness  became  one  of  his  habits,  and  he 
made  his  years  of  experiment  responsible  for  their  gropings  and  the 
difficulty  of  his  quest ;  his  mind  always  dwelt  on  his  earlier  times, 
when  he  used  to  sit  drawing  on  the  side  of  the  road,  cursing  the 
heartless  fate  which  was  always  calling  him  off  from  his  art  dream  to 
involve  him  in  the  struggle  for  daily  bread.  Arrived  at  the  height  of 
his  position,  the  little  china  painter  of  yesterday  never  could  forgive 
the  troubles  of  the  former  years  ;  they  were  always  coming  up  in  his 
conversation,  with  a  strongly  marked  resentment  towards  his  epoch. 
In  this,  TROYON,  in  fact,  showed  himself  simply  what  he  was,  the 
painter  whose  qualities  were  closed  up  in  his  art,  and  who  outside  of 
art  had  not  the  balanced  character  capable  of  looking  at  things  from 
aloft.  Personally  I  had  not  the  advantage  of  knowing  the  famous 
animal  painter,  but  I  learn  from  the  friends  who  lived  with  him  that 
TROYON,  beyond  his  painting,  could  bring  no  philosophy  of  discern- 
ment to  his  views  of  life.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  comfort  him  in 
praising  extravagantly  the  splendid  position  he  had  attained,  he  carried 
the  conversation  incessantly  back  to  his  days  of  penury,  and  he 
frankly  advanced  the  idea  that  his  contemporaries  only  redeemed  a 
small  part  of  their  wrongs  towards  him  (TROYON)  in  overwhelming 
him  now  with  gold  and  honors. 

Undoubtedly  it  would  have  been  more  dignified,  and  even  more 
just,  to  refrain  from  traveling  eternally  over  those  years  of  effort ;  but 
so  was  TROYON  constituted.  It  was  his  nature  to  dwell  on  a  fixed 
idea  ;  the  recognition  coming  from  all  quarters  was  only  his  due  ;  he 
could  not  put  it  to  the  credit  of  his  contemporaries  ;  he  had  been  so 
long  in  the  struggle  that  he  fancied  success  and  prosperity  might  again 
leave  him  in  the  lurch.  We  might  even  discover,  perhaps,  at  the 
bottom  of  this  morbid  nature  an  exaggerated  attribution  of  genius  to 
himself.  It  was  thus  that  he  took  measures  in  his  lifetime  for  assur- 

83 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN   MASTERS 

ing  his  name  an  immortality  in  establishing  a  prize,  bearing  the  name 
of  TROYON,  and  pledging  to  the  successful  competitor  among  the 
young  animal  painters  the  means  of  working  in  peace  for  a  term  of 
years. 

Over  the  death  of  TROYON  there  has  been  formed  a  legend  pre- 
tending that  he  was  killed  by  disease  resulting  from  the  poverty  of  his 
youth.  There  is  no  truth  in  this.  The  admirable  painter  of  animals 
had  only  to  blame  his  own  exacting  temperament  if  death  mowed  him 
down  towards  his  sixtieth  year,  when  all  the  other  grand  artists,  whose 
sufferings  had  been  as  sore  and  even  greater  than  his  own,  were  for- 
getting the  first  troubles  with  the  first  success.  A  man  does  not  die 
of  poverty  after  he  has  finally  bidden  it  farewell  for  more  than  twenty 
years.  TROYON  died  comparatively  young  because  his  temperament 
killed  him  by  overreaching  itself  in  everything,  good  as  well  as  evil. 
He  worked  too  much  and  tormented  himself  too  much ;  he  indulged 
himself  more  than  was  proper  with  the  joys  of  life ;  and  that  is  the 
reason  he  died  at  an  age  when,  with  more  self-balance,  he  might  have 
seen  before  him  long  years  of  production  and  celebrity. 


84 


Antoine  Louis  Barye 

>NTIMATELY  associated  with  the  great  phalanx  of 
genius  so  sympathetically  and  instructively  considered 
by  M.  WOLFF  was  one  who  in  his  own  region  of  art 
stood  second  to  none  that  then  was  or  that  had  gone 
before.  This  was  BARYE,  the  greatest  and,  in  his 
time,  the  most  misunderstood  genius  of  the  century.  Inasmuch  as  a 
not  indifferent  opportunity  is  afforded  to  know  the  work  of  the  great 
sculptor,  it  will  be  interesting  to  note  what  that  accomplished  critic, 
M.  GUSTAVE  PLANCH^,  wrote  of  him  in  1854,  when  there  were  yet 
to  be  unfolded  over  twenty  years  of  his  glorious  career. 


jOR  twenty  years  BARYE'S  works  have  been  before  the 
eyes  of  the  public;  they  are  numerous,  and  deservedly 
admired,  but  notwithstanding  this,  no  one  has  yet  taken 
the  trouble  to  study  them  as  a  whole.  I  am  going  to 
try  to  fill  that  vacuum.  M.  BARYE'S  talent  is  at  the  present  time 
in  the  fullness  of  its  maturity,  but  he  has  not  spoken  his  last  word. 
Notwithstanding  its  continuance  and  its  diversity,  it  is  to  be  doubted 
if  he  stops  at  the  point  he  has  attained.  Therefore,  what  I  will 
say  of  his  collective  work  must  not  be  considered  as  final.  Is  it 
necessary  to  add  that  I  do  not  pretend,  in  expressing  my  own  opinion, 
to  anticipate  that  of  posterity  ?  In  a  case  like  this,  modesty  is  always 
prescribed  by  good  sense.  If  I  venture  at  present  to  form  an  opinion, 
it  is  because  M.  BARYE'S  talent,  without  being  false  to  its  origin,  has 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

nevertheless  already  undergone  a  succession  of  transformations ;  and 
that  there  is  in  these  same  transformations  matter  for  interesting 
study.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  to  this  day  M.  BARYE  adheres  to  the 
convictions  he  held  twenty  years  ago ;  but  in  ferreting  out  with  as  much 
ardor  the  secrets  of  nature,  which  he  took  as  a  model  and  a  guide, 
he  has  from  year  to  year  found  it  impossible  not  to  attribute  a  greater 
importance  and  authority  to  the  traditions  and  to  the  monuments 
of  ancient  art.  Of  an  eminent  and  progressive  mind,  and  without 
deserting  the  principles  he  adopted  in  the  beginning,  he  has  known, 
nevertheless,  how  to  profit  as  well  by  the  teachings  of  the  past  as  by 
the  living  models  placed  before  his  eyes.  Between  the  Lion  exhibited 
at  the  Louvre  in  1833  and  the  Combat  of  the  Lapithtz  and  Centaur 
that  we  have  admired  this  year,  there  is  a  great  difference  of  style, 
though  the  author  in  the  latter  as  in  the  former  work  has  compelled  him- 
self to  strive  against  nature.  To  me  it  seems  useful  to  trace  the  path 
he  followed  from  the  start  to  the  point  now  reached. 

The  Lion  exhibited  at  the  Louvre  in  1833  raised  a  hue  and  cry  of 
astonishment  among  the  partisans  of  academic  sculpture.  Soon  anger 
took  the  place  of  astonishment ;  for  the  public,  in  spite  of  all  the  re- 
monstrances addressed  to  it  by  the  professors,  and  by  all  those  who 
swore  by  their  theories,  obstinately  praised  M.  BARYE  as  an  artist  as 
bold  as  he  was  skillful.  It  was  in  vain  they  kept  repeating  that  this 
was  not  true  sculpture ;  it  paid  no  heed  to  these  noisy  disclaimers,  and 
when  reproached  with  ignorance,  answered  by  crowding  round  this 
new  work.  When  the  model  was  purchased  by  the  civil  list,  and  cast 
with  uncommon  accuracy  from  the  wax  by  HONOR£  GONON,  and 
placed  in  the  Tuileries,  it  was  said  that  an  artist,  known  of  old  for  the 
unalterable  inflexibility  of  his  principles,  exclaimed  with  ingenuous 
anger :  "  Since  when  have  the  Tuileries  become  a  menagerie  ?  "  There 
is  in  this  outburst,  which  I  did  not  hear  with  my  own  ears,  but  which 
was  repeated  to  me  by  a  man  worthy  of  trust,  every  element  of  a 
judicious  and  complete  criticism.  Under  the  appearance  of  ridicule 
there  lies  a  hidden  admiration,  of  which  it  is  itself  unconscious ;  even 
anger  does  involuntary  homage  to  the  power  of  talent.  The  lions 
which  we  are  in  the  habit  of  seeing  in  our  parks,  the  lions  placed  in  the 
Tuileries,  on  the  side  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  lions  of  the  menagerie.  They  are  nameless  figures, 

86 


ANTOINE  LOUIS  BARYE 

bedecked  with  Louis  XIV.  wigs,  that  are  far  from  recalling  the  mon- 
arch of  the  forest.  This  type  of  the  lion  gloriously  inaugurated  by  M. 
PLANTARD,  and  multiplied  ad  tnfinitum  by  his  pupils,  are  termed,  in 
architectural  language,  ornamental  lions.  To  endeavor  to  imitate  with 
the  boaster  the  roaring  lion,  who  with  glistening  eyes  and  bristling  mane 
watches  and  then  devours  its  prey,  was  an  act  of  disrespect  towards 
that  blessed  type.  There  was,  therefore,  some  irreverence  in  M. 
BARYE'S  daring,  and  the  ingenuous  character  of  the  anger  I  was 
describing  just  now  needs  no  explanation. 

M.  BARYE'S  lion  clutches  a  serpent  in  its  fangs  and  is  preparing  to 
devour  it.  The  expression  of  the  eye,  the  movement  of  the  shoulders, 
the  whole  attitude  of  the  figure,  concur  admirably  in  the  expressiveness 
of  the  subject.  No  one  can  mistake  the  author's  meaning.  The 
looker-on  has  before  him  what  he  might  see  in  a  menagerie.  Not- 
withstanding the  unusual  intelligence  of  this  grouping,  and  though  the 
eye  glances  under  the  axilla  of  the  lion  whereas  it  should  be  on  a  level 
with  the  shoulder,  all  the  parts  of  the  model  are  executed  with  such 
learned  precision,  there  is  in  the  reproduction  of  all  the  details  so  much 
delicacy  and  skill,  that  the  sight  of  the  work  is  productive  of  a  kind  of 
horror.  I  am  not  in  fear,  though,  of  its  acting  upon  the  women  of 
Paris  as  the  Eumenides  of  ^Eschylus  did  upon  the  women  of  Athens. 
Yes,  in  this  group,  assailed  with  such  violence  by  the  partisans  of 
academic  sculpture,  and  defended  by  the  masses  with  so  much  good 
sense,  imitation  is  carried  to  its  utmost  limits.  To  me  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  go  any  farther  in  that  direction ;  it  is  a  prodigy  of  energy  and 
accuracy.  Still,  the  rare  work  does  not  blind  me  to  the  faults  with 
which  it  is  marred.  All  the  details,  given  with  so  much  cleverness, 
are  too  numerous.  The  suppleness  of  the  limbs,  which  surprises  us 
with  good  reason  in  this  palpitating  bronze,  does  not  conceal  the 
absence  of  large  masses,  which  are  indispensable  to  sculpture.  The 
flesh  is  treated  in  a  masterly  way,  the  muscular  contractions  are 
rendered  with  a  prominence  leaving  nothing  to  be  desired,  but  the 
framework  is  not  made  with  sufficient  breadth ;  therefore  the  figure  is 
wanting  in  masses.  It  would  be  useless  to  dwell  upon  the  marvelous 
fidelity  of  the  imitation ;  this  very  fidelity,  to  be  complete,  imposes 
upon  the  sculptor  the  duty  of  dividing  his  figure,  whether  it  be  man  or 
lion,  into  large  masses.  Unless  this  imperative  duty  be  fulfilled,  art, 

87 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

though  true,  has  nevertheless  not  attained  to  supreme  beauty.  In  M. 
BARYE'S  group  the  coat  of  the  principal  figure  has  not  been  treated 
with  sufficient  simplicity ;  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  effaced 
part  of  these  details  and  to  have  worked  boldly  at  the  principal  parts. 
As  I  said  before,  the  absence  of  masses  forbids  our  finding  in  this 
group,  otherwise  so  admirable,  a  work  of  truly  monumental  character. 
Notwithstanding  the  fierce  joy  expressed  in  his  glance,  notwithstanding 
the  strength  with  which  the  lion  seizes  its  prey,  we  realize  that  the 
hand  which  modeled  this  group  is  not  yet  master  of  all  the  secrets  of 
art.  M.  BARYE  himself  needed  no  warning  to  detect  the  defects 
I  have  pointed  out;  his  work  was  barely  finished  before  he  felt, 
better  than  any  one,  all  it  was  wanting  in.  This  group,  presenting 
his  conception  in  a  tangible  form,  opened  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  how 
long  was  the  road  he  had  to  tread  before  reaching  the  goal  he  had 
dreamed  of. 

However  this  may  be,  if  M.  BARYE  had  created  only  the  lion  ex- 
posed at  the  Louvre,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  acquired  the  right  to 
hold  an  exalted  rank  among  modern  sculptors,  for  no  one  has  on  such 
a  subject  carried  the  power  of  imitation  to  so  high  a  degree ;  but  he 
possessed  too  much  foresight  to  be  as  easily  satisfied  as  the  multitude. 
Notwithstanding  the  admiration  that  welcomed  his  d6but,  notwith- 
standing the  truly  legitimate  praise  won  by  his  first  work,  he  felt  that 
he  should,  that  he  could,  do  still  better,  in  order  to  make  a  worthy 
return  for  the  sympathy  he  had  met  with ;  he  determined  to  fill  the 
void  he  found  in  the  expressiveness  of  his  sketch,  to  obey  the  condi- 
tions he  had  unwittingly  violated,  and  I  will  easily  prove  that  he  kept 
his  word. 

Between  the  Lion  of  which  I  have  just  spoken  and  the  Lion  in 
Repose  that  faces  it,  there  is  an  interval  of  fourteen  years,  the  latter 
bearing  the  date  of  1847.  The  most  superficial  examination  is  suffi- 
cient to  demonstrate  that  in  modeling  it  the  author  no  longer  had  for 
realism  as  exclusive  a  love  as  in  1833,  and,  above  all,  that  he  felt  the 
necessity  of  dividing  the  figure  into  larger  masses.  The  shoulders 
and  the  thighs  are  vigorously  accentuated,  the  chine  is  forcibly  delin- 
eated, the  skeleton  is  indicated  with  great  precision.  All  in  all,  this 
figure  has  more  strength  than  the  first,  without  being  any  less  supple. 
The  opinion  I  express  here  is  not  the  one  generally  adopted,  still  I 

88 


ANTOINE  LOUIS   BARYE 

think  it  to  be  true.  In  fact,  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  misled 
by  the  first  impression  received  from  this  work. 

If  we  will  step  back  a  few  paces  to  contemplate  the  outline  and  the 
bulk  of  the  figure  instead  of  raking  over  the  details,  it  seems  to  me 
impossible  not  to  admit  the  superiority  of  the  Lion  in  Repose  over  the 
Lion  Holding  the  Serpent  in  its  Claws.  A  few  steps  are  sufficient, 
in  fact,  to  restore  all  the  grandeur,  all  the  truth  to  the  statuary's 
design.  The  divisions  that  Greek  art  has  so  firmly  established,  that 
she  has  used  so  sparingly,  that  Roman  art  has  so  often  applied  with- 
out feeling,  are  recalled  by  M.  BARYE  to  their  pristine  meaning ;  the 
Lion  of  iSjj  is  a  skillful  work,  the  Lion  of  1847  is  monumental.  If 
HONORS  GORTON  had  cast  the  second,  as  well  as  the  first,  not  a  doubt 
would  remain  on  the  subject. 

At  this  day  it  is  not  only  the  multitude  who  consult  their  im- 
pressions without  going  to  the  trouble  of  analyzing  them,  but  several 
men  of  serious  mind,  whose  authority  on  this  subject  must  be  taken 
into  consideration,  prefer  the  first  of  these  works  to  the  second.  I 
state  the  fact  without  accepting  it  as  final  proof.  I  trust  to  the  work 
of  time,  and  I  hope  it  will  demonstrate  to  the  most  incredulous  that 
the  literal  transcription  of  all  the  details  seen  in  the  living  model  can 
never  authorize  us  to  dispense  with  the  principal  divisions  established 
by  the  schools  of  ^Egina,  of  Sycion  and  of  Athens.  If  the  Lion  in 
Repose  had  even  been  cast  by  HONOR£  GONON,  who  died  several 
years  ago,  and  who  has  left  no  one  to  take  his  place,  it  would  never 
present  the  same  effect  as  the  lion  clutching  its  prey.  Even  if  the 
metal  had  reproduced  all  the  meaning  of  the  author,  this  work 
would  still  be  distinguished  by  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  several  very 
lifelike  details,  but  at  the  same  time  very  unnecessary  to  the  general 
effect.  For  my  part  I  accept  and  admire  this  voluntary  sacrifice,  as 
the  proof  of  a  mind  initiated  in  the  most  delicate  secrets  of  art.  To 
make  the  Lion  of  iSSj  a  very  careful  eye  and  a  very  skillful  hand 
were  required ;  to  make  the  Lion  in  Repose,  the  sharp  eye  and  the 
skillful  hand  were  not  all-sufficient.  The  new  work  required  something 
more.  A  perfect  knowledge  of  the  general  rules  of  art  and  of  its 
facilities,  with  the  courage  to  sacrifice,  is  at  once  one  of  its  rules  and 
one  of  its  means.  To  apparently  neglect,  to  leave  in  shadow  a  part  of 
the  object  in  view  to  better  display  the  part  that  should  claim  the 

89 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

attention,  is  a  cunning  trick  which  the  most  illustrious  masters  have 
often  put  in  practice,  and  their  example  should  not  be  lost  upon  us. 
M.  BARYE  remembered  it,  and  I  am  beholding  to  him  for  so  doing. 

The  beginnings  of  M.  BARYE  were  of  the  most  humble  kind,  and 
a  knowledge  of  his  early  life  adds  to  my  admiration  of  his  talent. 
When  I  compare  what  he  started  from  with  the  goal  he  has  reached, 
I  am  compelled  to  acknowledge  how  much  can  be  accomplished  by  a 
strong  will.  Born  under  the  Directory,  four  years  before  the  end  of 
the  last  century,  he  was,  when  thirteen  years  old,  bound  as  an 
apprentice  to  FOURIER,  who  engraved  for  goldsmiths  the  steel  moulds 
used  in  making  the  work  we  call  repousst.  Thus,  when  scarcely 
beyond  childhood,  M.  BARYE  was  being  initiated  in  the  elements  of 
the  art  which  he  was  soon  to  acquire  in  its  fullest  extent  and  in  all  its 
varieties.  The  master  chosen  for  him  by  his  father  was  at  this  time 
admitted  to  be  the  most  skillful  by  the  unanimous  consent  of  his 
colleagues.  It  was  in  FOURIER'S  studio  that  M.  BARYE  obtained  a 
complete  knowledge  of  all  the  secrets  belonging  to  the  goldsmith's  art, 
from  works  in  niello  to  the  most  delicate  chasing.  He  tried  in  succes- 
sion all  the  tests  imposed  by  the  Florentine  arts  of  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries.  He  did  not  rest  satisfied  with  a  sterile  contempla- 
tion of  the  works,  by  turn  ingenious  and  bold,  of  BENVENUTO  CELLINI, 
but  he  endeavored  to  cope  with  that  incomparable  artist,  whose  talent 
renders  all  imitators  hopeless.  It  would  be  interesting  to  collect  and 
examine  all  the  matrices  engraved  by  the  young  pupil  of  FOURIER 
from  1809  to  1817;  unfortunately,  the  most  earnest  zeal  could  not 
succeed  in  bringing  together  all  these  documents.  On  this  subject  we 
are  reduced  to  mere  conjecture ;  we  can  but  judge  of  the  past  by  the 
evidence  of  the  present ;  that  is  to  say,  it  would  be  better  not  to  make 
the  attempt.  Though  I  have  not  at  hand  a  single  stamp  engraved  by 
the  pupil  of  FOURIER,  I  do  not  think  it  unnecessary  to  make  mention 
of  this  first  apprenticeship  here,  as  these  obscure  studies  which  seemed 
destined  to  make  of  BARYE  but  a  skillful  mechanic  have  borne  most 
glorious  fruit.  In  1819  the  Ecole  des  Beaux- Arts  gave,  for  competi- 
tion in  engraving  in  medals,  Milo  of  Crotona,  and  FOURIER'S  young 
pupil  did  not  hesitate  to  enter  the  ranks.  I  have  before  me  this  work 
of  1819,  the  first  to  make  an  epoch  in  the  life  of  M.  BARYE,  the  first 
that  has  left  an  indelible  impression,  and  I  think  I  can  safely  say  that 

90 


ANTOINE   LOUIS   BARYE 

it  has  all  the  attributes  that  in  later  years  have  confirmed  the  popular- 
ity of  his  talent. 

The  subject  handled  in  the  seventeenth  century  by  PIERRE  PUGET 
with  so  much  vim  and  energy  was  understood  with  marvelous 
accuracy  by  FOURIER'S  pupil.  The  lion  biting  the  thigh  of  the 
athlete  is  rendered  with  a  capacity  rarely  met  with  in  the  pupils  of  the 
Academy.  The  head  and  the  attitude  of  Milo  eloquently  express  the 
struggle  of  courage  against  pain.  The  stamp  of  M.  BARYE,  notwith- 
standing the  approbation  of  all  connoisseurs,  was  awarded  only 
honorable  mention  and  a  medal  of  encouragement.  The  first  prize 
was  adjudged  to  M.  VATINELLE. 

The  following  year  1'Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts  proposed  for  the  prize 
in  sculpture,  Cain  Cursed  by  God  after  the  Murder  of  Abel.  M. 
BARYE,  who  had  passed  just  one  year  in  Bosio's  studio,  was  received 
en  loge — that  is  to  say,  admitted  to  competition.  His  figure,  which 
bore  at  once  the  impress  of  shame  and  of  anger,  received  the  second 
prize.  The  first  was  given  to  M.  JACQUOT.  In  1821  the  school 
selected  as  a  subject  of  competition,  Alexander  Besieging  the  City 
of  the  Oxydraquce.  M.  BARYE  again  placed  himself  in  the  lists; 
the  first  prize  was  given  to  M.  LEMAIRE.  In  1822,  Joseph's  Coat 
Brought  to  Jacob  by  his  Brethren.  M.  BARYE  competed  for  the 
third  time,  and  the  prize  was  given  to  M.  SEURRE,  Jr.  In  1823, 
Jason  Bearing  away  the  Golden  Fleece.  No  prize.  The  following 
year  M.  BARYE  was  not  even  admitted  to  competition,  and  he  left  the 
school. 

This  rapid  laying  down  of  facts  is  not  without  interest.  Messieurs 
VATINELLE,  JACQUOT,  LEMAIRE  and  SEURRE,  crowned  by  the 
fourth  class  of  the  Institute,  are  enjoying  at  present  a  most  legitimate 
obscurity ;  M.  BARYE,  rejected  after  five  years  of  laborious  work,  has 
found  the  way  of  attracting  and  compelling  attention.  Where  is  the 
stubborn  memory  that  can  recall  at  this  day  the  gross  and  lascivious 
women,  loaded  with  necklaces  and  bracelets,  sent  to  the  Louvre  by 
M.  JACQUOT,  and  his  full-length  portrait  of  LOUIS-PHILIPPE,  whose 
royal  mantle  resembles  a  leaden  cope  ?  Where  are  the  admirers  of 
the  pediment  of  the  Madeleine  ?  To  the  erudite  I  leave  the  labor  of 
discovering  the  works  of  M.  VATINELLE.  As  for  the  works  of  M. 
SEURRE,  Jr.,  I  have  never  heard  of  their  being  subjected  to  criticism ; 

91 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

insignificant  and  vulgar,  they  offend  the  principles  of  no  school  and  are 
protected  by  the  most  perfect  neglect. 

From  1823  to  1831  M.  BARYE  employed  all  his  time. in  modeling 
animals  for  M.  FAUCONNIER,  a  jeweler  enjoying  then  a  certain 
celebrity.  Without  permitting  himself  to  be  discouraged  by  the 
rewards  showered  upon  his  comrades,  he  accomplished  the  obscure 
task  that  fell  to  his  lot.  Hope  sustained  him  ;  he  felt  that  the  hour  of 
justice  could  not  fail  to  come.  These  eight  years  of  assiduous  labor 
have  left  nothing  more  to  mark  them  than  the  five  years  spent  with 
FOURIER.  M.  FAUCONNIER  is  the  only  one  who  could  tell  us  how 
many  ingenious  works,  how  many  graceful  or  bold  figures  sprung  into 
life  under  the  boaster  of  M.  BARYE.  His  is  the  only  testimony  we 
can  rely  upon,  and  M.  FAUCONNIER  is  not  here  no  answer.  Thus  it 
is  that  M.  BARYE  has  passed  through  many  trials  before  obtaining 
popularity.  When  his  name  was  for  the  first  time  given  to  the  public, 
I  mean  to  the  multitude  which  takes  little  interest  in  the  Academy 
competitions,  he  was  thirty-five  years  old,  and  for  twenty-two  years  he 
had  unceasingly  studied  every  branch  of  his  art.  An  engraver  of 
matrices  for  jewelers,  an  engraver  of  medals,  a  modeler  of  animals 
and  of  a  few  figures  that  were  multiplied  without  acknowledging  his 
name,  he  did  not  once  grow  despondent  of  the  future,  and  the  good 
judgment  of  the  public,  endorsing  the  opinions  of  the  connoisseurs, 
has  taken  upon  itself  to  justify  this  confidence.  The  laborious  work 
of  M.  BARYE  must  be  offered  as  an  example  to  all  impatient  souls 
who  complain  of  being  misunderstood.  Here  is  a  man  whose  worth 
is  to-day  made  manifest  to  all,  who  had  to  work  for  twenty-two  years 
before  seeing  his  way ;  who  saw  JACQUOT,  LEMAIRE,  SEURRE  and 
VATINELLE  preferred  by  the  Academy,  and  who,  though  aware  of  his 
own  merit,  never  thought  of  complaining  of  his  judges.  Excluded 
from  the  competitions  after  four  trials  which  left  no  doubt  as  to  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge,  he  did  not  then  throw  the  helve  after  the 
head  ;  he  had  promised  himself  that  sooner  or  later  the  public  would 
do  him  justice,  and,  in  waiting  for  the  day  of  retribution,  his  only 
thought  was  to  perfect  his  studies.  Pride  did  not  blind  him.  He 
felt  that  he  was  superior  to  MM.  VATINELLE,  JACQUOT,  SEURRE 
and  LEMAIRE  ;  but  he  was  also  aware  of  how  much  remained 
to  be  learned  before  he  could  present  his  ideas  to  the  public. 

92 


ANTOINE   LOUIS   BARYE 

The  animals  that  were  modeled  for  M.  FAUCONNIER,  none  of 
which  I  have  seen,  obliged  M.  BARYE  to  study  with  equal  care  the 
habits  as  well  as  the  forms  of  the  figures  he  had  to  represent.  For 
eight  years  he  watched,  he  learned  all  the  instincts  which  to-day  give 
life  to  his  compositions.  He  initiated  himself,  to  satisfy  the  require- 
ments of  his  art,  into  all  the  mysteries  the  learned  seem  to  arrogate  to 
themselves  as  a  sacred  patrimony  denied  to  the  profane.  From  the 
gazelle  to  the  panther,  from  the  humming-bird  to  the  condor,  there  is 
not  a  chapter  of  BUFFON  with  which  M.  BARYE  is  not  familiar.  He 
studied  the  entire  succession  of  animals  before  attempting  to  repro- 
duce them.  Therefore,  when  he  was  enabled  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of 
obscurity,  when  he  could  put  his  signature  to  his  own  works  and  sub- 
mit them  to  public  judgment,  he  found  himself  in  possession  of  a 
knowledge  so  diversified,  so  well  tested  that  he  made  light  of  all 
other  difficulties.  He  no  longer  groped  his  way,  he  had  himself  opened 
the  path  he  was  to  follow;  he  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
peculiarities  of  the  models  he  undertook  to  reproduce ;  he  was  from 
this  time  protected  against  all  doubt ;  he  was  going  to  reap  the  fruit 
of  his  perseverance. 

The  groups  composed  by  M.  BARYE  for  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and 
destined  to  form  the  principal  part  of  an  epergne,  have  a  value  far 
beyond  the  uses  they  were  destined  for.  This  sort  of  work  is  gene- 
rally entrusted  to  workmen  of  more  or  less  skill ;  it  is  rare  to  order 
them  of  artists  worthy  of  the  name.  Provided  the  different  parts  of 
an  epergne  are  well  cast  and  well  finished,  the  purchaser  usually  de- 
clares himself  satisfied.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  had  the  happy  thought 
of  applying  to  M.  BARYE,  and  left  him  free  to  choose  his  subjects  as 
well  as  the  disposition  of  the  pieces ;  this  intention,  suggested  by  a 
judicious  taste,  was  not  faithfully  carried  out.  M.  BARYE  composed 
nine  groups,  of  which  five  are  hunting  scenes ;  the  rest  of  the  epergne 
was  entrusted  to  many  different  hands.  I  am  not  called  upon  to 
speak  of  the  epergne  as  a  whole,  as  it  was  designed  by  M.  Aiut 
CHENAVARD.  That  architecture  in  this  composition  held  too  promi- 
nent a  part  is  beyond  controversy ;  that  M.  BARYE,  working  untram- 
meled,  in  accordance  with  the  original  idea  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
was  capable  of  producing  a  work  of  more  elegance,  more  harmonious, 
more  sensible  than  the  epergne  designed  by  M.  CHENAVARD,  is  a  fact 

93 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

useless  to  demonstrate.  My  task  at  present  is  limited  to  the  study  of 
the  nine  groups.  The  subjects  chosen  by  M.  BARYE  are  distinguished 
both  by  richness  and  variety.  The  Tiger  Hunt,  the  Bull  Hunt, 
the  Bear  Hunt,  the  Lion  Hunt,  the  Moose  Hunt,  afforded  him 
the  opportunity  of  displaying  all  the  knowledge  acquired  in  the  last 
twenty  years. 

In  the  first  of  these  groups  the  Indian  hunters  are  placed  on  an 
elephant  and  are  brandishing  javelins.  At  each  side  of  the  elephant  a 
tiger  springs  and  climbs  to  the  assault,  the  hunters'  mount  resembling 
a  stronghold.  The  opinion  generally  held  is  that  the  elephant  is  for- 
ever ugly,  whatever  may  be  its  color  or  age.  I  would  not  attempt  to 
reinstate  it  by  comparing  it  with  the  tiger,  the  lion,  or  the  panther — 
that  would  be  pure  folly.  It  has  certainly  neither  their  suppleness  nor 
their  elegance ;  and  still,  whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  it  has 
a  beauty  of  its  own,  the  beauty  belonging  to  the  evidence  of  strength. 
To  translate  this  kind  of  beauty  we  must  by  stolid  study  prepare  our- 
selves for  the  difficult  task,  we  must  be  perfectly  conversant  with  the 
form,  the  action  and  the  habits  of  the  elephant.  M.  BARYE  possessed 
all  these  requirements ;  therefore  he  solved  without  difficulty  the 
problem  he  set  himself.  There  is  in  the  construction  of  his  elephant  a 
precision,  a  power  which  leave  nothing  to  be  desired.  It  comes  for- 
ward majestically ;  the  claws  and  the  teeth  of  the  two  tigers,  clinging 
to  its  flanks  as  they  climb  up  its  sides  like  a  lizard  on  a  wall,  make  no 
breach  in  its  thick  coat.  The  two  tigers  are  marvelously  supple. 
There  is  nothing  conventional  in  their  action.  It  is  an  action  taken 
from  nature,  understood  with  accuracy  and  rendered  with  fidelity. 
They  climb  with  such  agility,  the  hunters  must  soon  feel  their  sharp 
claws,  their  furious  teeth,  if  they  do  not  hasten  to  attack  them  vigor- 
ously ;  if  their  blows  are  misdirected  they  are  lost. 

The  two  hunters  are  not  less  cleverly  handled  than  the  elephant 
and  the  tigers.  From  the  top  of  their  living  tower  they  gaze  unmoved 
upon  the  enemy  they  are  about  to  strike.  Their  looks  express  courage 
unmixed  with  fear.  The  presence  of  danger  animates  but  does  not 
frighten  them.  Therefore  the  Tiger  Hunt,  considered  in  the  light  of 
invention,  is  of  a  style  satisfying  to  the  most  severe  judge,  and  inven- 
tion is  not  the  only  merit  of  this  work.  All  the  characters  taking  part 
in  the  action,  elephant,  tigers  and  hunters,  are  executed  with  a  care,  a 

94 


ANTOINE   LOUI8   BARYE 

patience,  that  give  additional  value  to  the  composition.  Here  spirit 
does  not  exclude  accuracy.  The  ignorant  keep  repeating  continually 
and  on  all  occasions  that  inspiration  is  not  consistent  with  accuracy  of 
detail ;  it  is  a  maxim  well  suited  to  idleness.  If  it  needed  refutation, 
if  common  sense  had  not  done  justice  to  it  long  since,  the  Tiger  Hunt 
of  M.  BARYE  would  prove  to  be  a  victorious  argument.  This  group, 
so  ingeniously  conceived,  in  which  each  actor  fills  so  distinct,  so  con- 
spicuous a  part,  where  life  shows  itself  under  three  different  forms, 
equally  true,  equally  taken  from  nature,  is,  nevertheless,  irreproachably 
accurate.  Each  is  firmly  knit,  and  there  is  nothing  fanciful  in  the 
action.  But  where  is  the  use  of  dwelling  upon  this  point  ?  Has  it  not 
been  proved  long  since  that  the  boldest  art  is  consistent  with  the 
deepest  science?  Those  who  maintain  the  opposite  have  excellent 
reasons  for  persisting  in  their  opinion,  or  at  the  least  in  their  assertion. 
As  they  went  to  work  before  they  had  studied  every  branch  of  their 
trade,  it  is  most  natural  they  should  accuse  science  of  sterility.  Well, 
let  them  look  upon  the  works  consecrated  by  long-timed  admiration, 
that  have  resisted  all  the  caprices  of  fashion,  and  they  will  understand 
that  science,  far  from  interfering  with  fancy,  on  the  contrary  gives  it 
more  freedom  and  more  powers,  since  it  places  within  its  reach  in- 
creased and  more  accurate  means. 

The  Bull  Hunt  is  not  less  cleverly  composed  than  the  Tiger 
Hunt.  Here  is  the  same  boldness  of  conception,  the  same  delicacy  of 
execution. 

There  is  much  left  to  the  imagination  in  this  work,  so  true  in  knowl- 
edge and  in  accuracy,  and  this  is  not,  in  our  eyes,  its  least  claim  to 
praise.  To  represent  the  Bull  Hunt  with  as  much  elegance,  without 
detracting  from  the  energy  which  should  characterize  the  scene,  it  is 
not  sufficient  to  bring  the  model  before  us  merely ;  we  must  be  able 
to  recall  it  when  out  of  sight,  and  add  the  power  of  reflection  to  the 
testimony  of  the  senses.  Such  a  spectacle  can  last  but  an  instant. 

The  bull  bends  and  vomits  a  torrent  of  blood,  or  the  disemboweled 
horse  falls  and  throws  its  rider.  Therefore  it  is  not  a  question  of  copy- 
ing what  is  before  us,  we  must  be  satisfied  to  see  it  plainly,  and  when 
the  time  comes  for  beginning  the  work,  the  imagination  then  enlarges 
upon  the  real  elements  retained  by  the  memory.  M.  BARYE  by  a 
happy  privilege  has  at  the  same  time  respected  the  rights  of  the  imagi- 

95 


NOTES  ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

nation  and  of  science.  I  say  by  a  happy  privilege,  because  it  is  seldom 
we  find  exactness  consistent  with  invention.  And  still  the  fine  works, 
the  works  destined  for  time,  cannot  be  produced  without  this  con- 
dition. This  assertion  does  not  coincide  with  the  generally  received 
opinion ;  is  that  a  reason  for  not  maintaining  it  ?  Every  day  I  hear  it 
said  that  knowledge  stifles  the  imagination,  and  this  silly  nonsense 
finds  many  an  echo ;  so  many  are  interested  in  accepting  it  as  the 
truth !  It  is  such  a  convenient  maxim  for  idleness !  Voluntary  ignor- 
ance is  the  first  step  towards  genius !  Nevertheless,  I  question  history, 
and  history  answers  that  the  most  productive  genius  never  could  dis- 
pense with  science.  If  at  the  outset  he  made  simple,  spontaneous 
compositions,  if  he  produced  unassisted  by  study,  he  was  not  long  in 
admitting  that,  relying  alone  upon  his  own  strength,  he  would  soon 
be  obliged  to  stop,  and  that  he  devoted  himself  to  study  in  order  to 
continue  in  the  lists  and  assure  his  own  victory.  In  every  branch  of 
the  arts  I  find  the  same  evidence.  MOZART,  BEETHOVEN,  ROSSINI, 
pre-eminently  spontaneous  geniuses,  were  thoroughly  conversant  with 
all  the  secrets  of  science,  and  science,  far  from  weakening  their  im- 
petus, sustained  them  and  led  them  at  a  swifter  pace  up  to  the  highest 
summit  of  art.  In  poetry  I  find  DANTE  and  MILTON,  who  are  pos- 
sessed of  all  the  knowledge  of  their  epoch,  and  who,  notwithstanding 
this  rich  burden,  found  time  to  write  the  Divine  Comedy  and  Paradise 
Lost.  In  the  art  of  drawing  I  meet  with  DA  VINCI  and  MICHAEL 
ANGELO,  who  studied  all  their  lives,  and  who  bequeathed  us  immortal 
works,  and  who  left  this  earth  still  unsatiated  with  knowledge. 

In  the  Bear  Hunt  the  cavaliers  wear  the  costume  of  the  time  of 
CHARLES  VII.,  and  this  costume  is  executed  with  much  elegance. 
The  horses,  vigorous  and  boldly  modeled,  recall  G^RICAULT'S  manner, 
and  it  is  not  the  only  analogy  that  can  be  drawn  between  the  painter 
and  the  sculptor.  It  is  with  M.  BARYE  as  with  the  author  of  the 
Medusa,  the  love  of  truth,  sustained  by  persevering  studies,  impresses 
upon  each  part  of  the  work  the  stamp  of  truth,  which  at  first  awakens 
sympathy,  and  later  resists  analysis.  The  bear  presents  the  same 
difficulty  as  the  elephant,  as  the  ugliness  of  both  these  models  is 
equally  proverbial.  M.  BARYE  has  solved  the  second  problem  as 
successfully  as  the  first.  To  create  a  fine  horse  passes  in  the  eyes  of 
the  multitude  for  an  easy  task,  and  still  we  are  driven  to  the  belief 

96 


ANTOINE  LOUIS   BARYE 

that  the  multitude  is  mistaken,  since  it  so  seldom  happens  that  the 
thing  is  carried  out.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  visit  the  studs,  assist  at 
the  races  of  Chantilly,  follow  cavalry  drills,  to  succeed  in  this  task 
said  to  be  so  easy;  we  must  begin  by  the  beginning — and  the 
beginning,  what  is  it?  The  anatomy  of  the  horse.  G&UCAULT 
understood  it  perfectly,  and  I'Ecorcht  (a  figure  divested  of  the  skin) 
that  he  has  left  us  is  superabundant  proof  that  it  is  so.  M.  BARYE 
studied  it  with  no  less  care,  and  the  hunts  executed  for  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  leave  no  doubt  on  that  score.  He  was  not  satisfied  with 
looking  at  the  horse  in  motion ;  he  wished  to  understand  the  cause  of 
the  action,  the  attachment  of  the  muscles  and  the  form  of  the  muscular 
fasciculi,  the  general  skeleton  of  the  model — to  account  to  himself,  in  a 
word,  for  all  he  had  observed.  This  method,  so  rarely  followed, 
because  it  is  reputed  too  slow,  is  nevertheless  the  only  one  that  leads 
to  the  goal.  As  for  the  bear,  we  are  not  accustomed  to  think  it  worthy 
of  sculpture.  At  the  utmost  we  consent  to  see  it  figure  in  the  silver- 
smith's art.  M.  BARYE  took  upon  himself  to  refute  this  opinion 
believed  in  so  long,  and  to  prove  that  there  is  not  in  all  created 
nature  a  model  unworthy  of  art.  On  each  stem  of  the  living  scale 
a  practiced  eye  finds  the  subject  of  an  interesting  work.  If  beauty  is 
unequally  divided  among  animals,  it  is  allowable  to  affirm  that  all 
forms  perfectly  understood  offer  to  the  statuary  as  well  as  to  the 
painter  the  subject  for  a  glorious  effort.  Imitated  by  a  skillful  hand 
they  acquire  a  real  importance.  So  the  bear  even,  which,  compared 
with  the  lion,  with  the  horse,  is  certainly  not  handsome,  can  never- 
theless, under  the  boaster  or  the  brush,  assume  a  certain  beauty.  If 
the  painter  or  the  statuary  succeeds  in  expressing  the  mixture  of  force 
and  indolence  which  composes  the  character  of  the  model,  he  is  sure 
to  interest  us.  The  bear  of  M.  BARYE  fills  all  these  conditions.  In 
the  accuracy  of  the  imitation  there  is  nothing  literal ;  it  is  life  taken  on 
the  spot,  the  bronze  breathes.  The  form  is  reproduced  in  a  way  that 
is  at  once  so  faithful  and  so  free  that  each  motion  is  in  keeping  with 
the  action  that  the  author  has  tried  to  represent.  This  is  praise  that 
no  one  will  deny  to  M.  BARYE'S  group,  and  the  union  of  fidelity  and 
liberty  in  imitation  which  seems  to  be  indispensable  to  all  his  works  is 
sufficiently  rare  for  me  to  take  the  trouble  of  pointing  it  out. 

To  say  that  his  horsemen  sit  well  in  their  saddles,  that  the  horses, 

97 


NOTES   ON   CERTAIN    MASTERS 

full  of  spirit,  are  worthy  of  the  horsemen,  is  not  sufficient  to  character- 
ize the  merit  of  this  group.  There  is  a  foresight  in  the  disposition  of 
the  figures  that  compose  it,  a  skillfulness  that  adds  new  value  to  the 
accuracy  of  the  imitation.  The  form  of  the  horses  contrasts  success- 
fully by  their  elegance  with  the  short  and  thick-set  limbs  of  the  bear ; 
in  this  work,  which  by  its  proportions  seems  to  belong  to  genre  sculp- 
ture, there  is  not  a  detail  brought  forth  by  chance,  or  represented  in 
an  incomplete  manner.  Everything  is  reckoned,  ordered,  and  com- 
bined with  as  much  care  as  if  it  were  a  work  executed  in  lifelike  pro- 
portions. Those  who  judge  the  works  of  the  chisel  and  the  brush  by 
their  size  may  consider  the  work  of  calculation  was  carried  too  far,  or 
at  least  that  it  was  time  lost.  Those  who  only  take  form  and  design 
in  account,  and  for  whom  size  is  of  no  importance,  will  not  fail  to 
admire  the  method  M.  BARYE  has  followed.  This  lavish  care  has  not 
chilled  his  composition.  Nothing  is  done  carelessly,  everything  is 
expressed  and  everything  is  living. 

What  I  wish  to  indicate  in  the  three  groups  I  have  just  analyzed  is 
the  astounding  variety  the  author  has  been  able  to  throw  into  these 
compositions.  Labor — I  mean  effort — is  nowhere  made  evident.  To 
produce  seems  like  play  to  the  author,  so  easy  is  it  for  him  to  collect 
all  the  personages  that  are  to  concur  in  expressing  his  conception. 
His  models,  with  whose  physiognomy,  habits  and  character  he  is  well 
acquainted,  are  obedient  to  his  will,  and  dispose  themselves  in  a  way 
to  conciliate  beauty  of  outline  with  energy  of  action.  The  variety  I 
point  to  is  not  only  due  to  the  fullness  of  the  imagination ;  it  depends 
particularly  upon  the  intelligence,  the  complete  understanding  of  his 
subjects.  The  most  fortunately  gifted  of  statuaries  would  never  attain 
this  variety  if  he  did  not  always  have  at  his  command  the  perfect 
remembrance  of  the  figures  he  wishes  to  put  into  his  works.  With  a 
knowledge  hastily  acquired  and  badly  digested  he  never  could  give  to 
the  figures  the  individuality  that  belongs  to  them.  With  M.  BARYE 
variety  was  not  a  thing  to  be  wished  for,  but  a  necessity.  Familiarized 
as  he  was  with  his  models,  he  could  not  fail  in  assigning  them  the 
expression,  the  attitudes  belonging  to  them.  In  the  obedient  clay  he 
found  without  effort  all  the  motions  he  had  witnessed  and  remem- 
bered ;  therefore,  the  hunts  composed  for  the  Duke  of  Orleans  pre- 
sent to  us  a  succession  of  living  scenes.  In  them  art  and  science  are 

98 


ANTOINE   LOUIS    BARYE 

found  combined  in  such  equal  measure  that  we  are  compelled  to 
admire. 

These  groups,  so  varied  and  so  true,  consigned  M.  BARYE  to  a 
place  among  the  most  ingenious  artists ;  but  the  minds  accustomed  to 
feed  only  on  the  commonplace  are  obstinately  bent  on  considering 
these  powerful  works  as  mere  pieces  of  genre.  In  their  eyes,  it  is  true, 
heroic  subjects  are  the  only  ones  admissible  for  great  works.  A  cava- 
lier of  the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  century,  were  it  ever  so  skillfully 
treated,  is  deserving  of  no  serious  attention ;  it  is  only  a  pastime,  an 
amusement — nothing  more!  It  was,  perhaps,  as  an  answer  to  this 
hackneyed  reproach  that  M.  BARYE  decided  upon  selecting  from  the 
heroic  period  of  Greece  the  subject  of  a  new  composition.  From  the 
manner  in  which  he  presented  it,  the  independence  he  displayed  in  the 
action  of  his  personages,  I  am  led  to  think  that  these  silly  declama- 
tions were  the  immediate  but  not  the  real  cause  of  his  determination. 
The  Combat  of  Theseus  with  the  Minotaur  does  not  partake  of  any 
academic  tradition. 

M.  BARYE,  in  presenting  it  to  us,  understood  the  advantage  there 
would  be  in  representing  the  two  figures  standing.  This  disposition 
enables  him  to  give  more  breadth  to  the  Minotaur  and  to  establish  a 
more  striking  contrast  between  the  limbs  of  the  monster  and  the 
limbs  of  the  hero. 

The  Theseus  is  full  of  elegance  and  nobility;  in  his  movements 
there  is  nothing  preconceived,  nothing  studied.  He  moves  and  does 
not  pose.  His  whole  body  is  a  model  of  beauty.  The  torso  and  the 
limbs  are  expressive  at  once  of  strength  and  energy ;  the  head,  im- 
pressed with  manly  vigor,  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  character  of 
the  figure.  There  is  neither  in  the  torso,  in  the  limbs,  nor  in  the 
head  anything  that  recalls  in  a  servile  manner  the  monuments  of 
antique  art.  It  is,  nevertheless,  easy  to  see  that  M.  BARYE  is  not 
ignorant  of  the  Theseus  of  the  Parthenon,  and  that  he  has  often  con- 
sulted it,  for  the  large  massing  in  the  torso  is  inspired  by  the  admirable 
fragment  now  placed  in  the  British  Museum.  In  questioning  these 
remains,  so  full  of  teaching,  M.  BARYE  made  use  of  a  right  that  no 
one  can  dispute  him.  He  freely  and  boldly  profited  by  the  lesson  ;  he 
remembered  without  copying ;  and  he  did  not  confound  docility  with 
impersonality.  While  accepting  the  advice  of  an  illustrious  master, 

99 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN   MASTERS 

he  always  remained  himself.  It  was  the  safest,  the  most  decisive  way 
of  proving  to  those  who  utter  commonplaces,  that  to  raise  one's  self 
above  genre  sculpture  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  at  one's  command  a 
block  of  marble  ten  feet  high.  M.  BARYE'S  Theseus  is  not  fifteen 
inches  high,  and  still  it  is  handsome,  it  is  grand  in  the  fullest  accepta- 
tion of  the  term. 

Let  some  rich  and  intelligent  man  entrust  to  the  author  the  trans- 
lation of  his  conception  into  life-size  proportions,  and  I  am  sure  the 
model  will  lose  nothing  by  the  transformation,  for  there  is  not  in  this 
composition  that  can  be  held  in  the  hand  a  single  detail  omitted.  In 
a  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  Theseus,  the  Minotaur,  whose  limbs 
are  entwined  with  those  of  the  hero,  happily  contrasts  his  ponderous 
strength  with  the  agile  strength  of  his  adversary.  The  bull's  head 
placed  upon  the  human  body,  breathing  forth  a  wild  brutality, 
seemed  destined  to  make  the  intelligence  and  delicacy  that  animate 
every  feature  of  Theseus  more  striking.  The  spectator,  in  contem- 
plating this  struggle,  knows  that  the  Minotaur  will  be  vanquished, 
because  he  feels  that  Theseus  is  measuring  his  blows  instead  of  multi- 
plying them,  and  that  the  monster  will  soon  roll  at  his  feet,  stunned 
and  bleeding. 

From  the  Cain  Accursed  to  the  Theseus  Victorious,  what  an  im- 
mense interval !  The  work  of  the  youth,  energetic  and  true,  was  full 
of  promise ;  the  work  of  the  artist  in  his  maturity  realizes  all  the 
hopes  awakened  by  the  Cain  ;  a  simplicity  of  gesture,  an  elegance  of 
execution,  a  happy  choice  of  harmonious  lines,  all  are  found  united  in 
this  work,  so  cleverly  conceived  that  the  ignorant,  looking  on  it,  can 
say  as  they  would  after  reading  one  of  LAFONTAINE'S  fables  :  Where 
is  the  one  among  us  who  could  not  do  as  much  ?  Herein  truly  lies 
the  distinctive  character  of  all  the  compositions  that  recommend  them- 
selves by  their  simplicity.  The  labor  is  so  well  disguised  that  each 
one  of  the  ignorant  thinks  he  can  do  as  much  ;  but  let  him  take  up  the 
boaster  or  the  pen  and  he  will  learn  its  value,  and  at  what  price  this 
simplicity,  which  seems  within  the  reach  of  every  one,  was  purchased  ! 

Angtliquc  et  Roger  furnished  M.  BARYE  with  an  opportunity  to 
display  his  talent  in  an  unexpected  light — in  the  attitude  of  graceful- 
ness. When  I  say  unexpected  I  am  not  speaking  of  enlightened 
minds,  because  it  is  very  evident  that  the  expression  of  strength  does 


ANTOINE  LOUIS  BARYE 

not  exclude  the  expression  of  grace.  Moreover,  to  the  masses  accus- 
tomed to  circumscribe  the  development  of  the  mind  to  a  determined 
circle,  the  group  of  Angdlique  et  Roger  had  all  the  charm  of  the 
unforeseen.  This  work,  required  of  M.  BARYE  by  the  Duke  of 
Montpensier,  but  required  on  the  most  liberal  conditions,  since  the 
artist  could,  by  restricting  himself  to  the  given  dimensions,  choose  the 
subject  of  his  work  to  suit  himself,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most 
ingenious  inventions  of  modern  art.  Roger,  mounted  on  the  Hippo- 
griff,  holds  in  his  arms  the  beautiful  Angilique.  I  need  not  recall 
this  episode,  borrowed  from  ARIOSTO'S  poem.  On  this  side,  as  well 
as  beyond  the  Alps,  Orlando  Furioso  for  a  long  time  past  has  enjoyed 
a  legitimate  popularity,  and  the  characters  of  this  admirable  book  are 
familiar  to  every  one.  My  task  is  limited  to  characterizing  its  concep- 
tion and  execution.  The  genius  of  ARIOSTO,  the  first  poet  of  Italy 
after  DANTE,  suited  the  turn  of  M.  BARYE'S  mind  marvelously  well, 
and  the  French  sculptor,  in  consulting  him,  reaped  useful  lessons  from 
this  intercourse.  On  either  side  there  was  the  same  freedom,  the 
same  passion  for  the  flights  of  fancy.  See,  therefore,  how  faithfully 
the  boasting  tool  has  translated  the  poet's  idea !  Angilique,  with  her 
full  and  rounded  limbs,  exemplifies  sensual  beauty.  Her  figure,  grace- 
ful in  its  strength,  is  charming  and  seductive  to  the  eye  and  to 
the  imagination.  She  would  recall  the  Flemish  types  by  this  richness 
of  form,  were  it  not  for  the  purity  of  the  outline  that  carries  our 
thoughts  back  to  the  works  of  Greece.  There  is  truly  in  this  admir- 
able creature  something  that  partakes  at  the  same  time  of  the  nymphs 
of  RUBENS  and  of  the  maidens  of  Athens  whose  graceful  profiles 
decorate  the  temple  of  Minerva,  a  happy  blending  that  charms  and 
bewilders  us.  The  eye  never  tires  of  contemplating  this  beautiful 
figure,  every  part  of  which  is  handled  with  exquisite  care.  The  bust 
and  the  hips  are  rendered  with  a  precision  that  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired.  The  shoulders  and  the  back  offer  to  our  astonished  sight  a 
perpetual  source  of  study.  There  is  nothing  conventional,  nothing 
systematic ;  it  is  nature  taken  on  the  spot  and  freely  interpreted. 
Suppleness,  strength  and  grace — nothing  is  wanting  in  this  beautiful 
creature  to  charm  her  lover.  Roger,  who  holds  her  in  his  arms,  clad 
in  solid  armor,  adds  to  the  beauty  of  the  woman  who  is  all  his  own, 
by  the  energy  of  his  attitude,  by  the  power  of  his  glance ;  he  looks  at 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

her  most  lovingly,  he  dominates  her  so  resolutely  by  his  love  that  hope 
lends  a  new  charm  to  this  lovely  being.  I  do  not  think  it  possible  to 
present  Angtlique  and  Roger  under  a  more  attractive  aspect.  All 
those  who  beheld  in  M.  BARYE  a  man  devoted  without  repeal  to  the 
expression  of  force  must  have  been  very  much  astonished.  As  for  the 
enlightened  minds,  they  hailed  with  joy,  but  without  surprise,  this  new 
side  of  M.  BARYE'S  talent. 

The  Hippogrtff,  whose  type  sketched  by  Ariosto  allows,  more- 
over, a  free  course  to  the  artist's  fancy,  has  not  been  interpreted  less 
felicitously  than  Angtlique  and  Roger.  This  marvelous  horse,  of 
which  nature  furnishes  no  model,  partakes  at  once  of  the  eagle  and 
of  the  horse ;  he  devours  space  as  did  Job's  courser  and  breathes  fire 
from  his  delicate  nostrils.  The  wings  attached  to  the  shoulders,  at 
once  light  and  powerful,  move  with  a  rapidity  which  defies  the  eye. 
Moreover,  there  is  in  this  singular  ensemble  such  a  skillful  combina- 
tion, such  perfect  handicraft,  that  astonishment  soon  ceases  to  make 
way  for  the  most  attentive  study.  The  Htppogriff  of  M.  BARYE  is  so 
naturally  conceived  that  it  loses  its  fabulous  character.  Though 
science  has  not  yet  discovered  anything  like  it,  and  even  proves  to  us 
by  victorious  reasons  that  nothing  like  it  will  ever  be  offered  to  our 
sight,  we  voluntarily  accept  the  Hippogriff  as  a  horse  of  a  peculiar 
nature,  but  as  one  which  has  lived,  that  still  lives,  and  which  we  might 
meet  with.  This  impression — a  purely  poetic  one,  and  one  that  reason 
does  not  acknowledge — explains  itself  by  the  accuracy  with  which  the 
author  was  able  to  weld,  by  an  art  that  is  peculiar  to  himself,  the  horse 
and  the  bird.  If  he  had  not  possessed  in  a  masterly  way  the  full 
knowledge  of  these  two  natures,  so  unlike,  he  would  never  have  suc- 
ceeded in  coupling  them  under  this  harmonious  form.  Initiated  in  all 
the  secrets  of  their  structure,  he  is  able  without  an  effort  to  unite  the 
wings  of  the  eagle  to  the  shoulders  of  the  horse. 

I  must  not  pass  over  in  silence  the  equestrian  statuettes,  which, 
notwithstanding  the  exiguity  of  their  dimensions,  are  deserving  of 
serious  attention :  Charles  VI.,  Charles  VII.,  Gaston  de  Foix, 
General  Bonaparte  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

Charles  VI.  is  not  a  purely  decorative  statuette,  because,  as  M. 
BARYE  has  represented  the  moment  when  the  king,  stopped  in  the 
forest  by  an  unknown  man  seizing  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  is  suddenly 


ANTOINE   LOUIS   BARYE 

bereft  of  reason.  The  expression  of  the  face  is  in  keeping  with  the 
scene  the  artist  has  proposed  to  interpret.  Charles  VII.  and  Gaston 
de  Foix,  deprived  of  the  charm  of  action,  interest  us  by  their  elegance. 
The  costume,  though  faithfully  depicted,  claims  but  the  importance 
belonging  to  it.  The  effeminate  character  of  Charles  VI.,  the  manly, 
resolute  character  of  Gaston  de  Foix,  have  offered  the  author  an 
opportunity  to  display,  as  he  understands  it,  the  harmony  of  the  face 
with  the  mind. 

A  candelabra  composed  of  nine  figures,  and  asked  of  M.  BARYE 
by  the  Duke  de  Montpensier,  will  no  doubt  hold  its  place  among 
the  most  exquisite  works  of  our  times.  At  the  base  are  Juno, 
Minerva  and  Venus ;  half  way  up  are  three  imaginary  figures ;  at 
the  top  the  three  Graces ;  this  is  the  triple  subject  the  author  has 
chosen  for  a  candelabra  with  twelve  branches  formed  of  foliage.  I 
am  not  afraid  to  state  that  the  Renaissance  never  conceived  anything 
more  ingenious  nor  more  pure.  The  three  godesses  sitting  at  the  base 
are  drawn  with  an  accuracy,  a  variety,  which  does  not  allow  the  mind 
a  moment's  hesitation  as  to  the  names  of  these  personages.  Juno's 
features  manifest  pride,  and  every  one  must  recognize  the  queen  of 
Olympus.  Minerva  fully  expresses  that  virginal  gravity  we  admire  in 
the  Colossus  of  Villetri ;  as  for  Venus,  her  glance  is  animated  with  a 
divine  tenderness.  The  figures  of  the  three  godesses  are  modeled  to 
concur  in  expression  with  the  three  physiognomies  that  are  so  truly 
characteristic.  We  find  in  Venus  a  development  of  form  suggestive 
of  maternity ;  in  Minerva  a  more  sober  elegance  that  admits  of  no 
such  thought ;  in  Juno  there  is  a  majestic  severity,  indicative  of  the 
spirit  of  command.  The  three  chimeras  that  form  the  centre  of  the 
composition  are  a  clever  invention.  It  would  be  difficult  to  interpret 
more  skillfully  the  traditions  of  mythology.  The  three  Graces  who 
crown  this  charming  edifice  recall,  through  their  litheness,  the  group 
so  well  known  to  all  travelers  who  have  visited  the  Cathedral  at 
Sienna.  And  yet,  although  the  Graces  of  M.  BARYE  carry  our 
thoughts  back  to  the  Graces  of  Sienna,  there  is  not  a  trace  of  imita- 
tion in  the  work  born  in  our  midst.  The  Graces  of  the  candelabra 
are  nude,  and  their  nakedness,  at  once  chaste  and  voluptuous — chaste 
by  their  attitude,  voluptuous  by  their  youth  and  the  choice  of  outline 
— would  safely  bear  comparison  with  the  small  figures  found  in  the 

103 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN    MASTERS 

plains  of  Attica.  M.  BARYE  is  carried  away  by  an  all-powerful  in- 
stinct towards  the  Flemish  school.  The  women  of  RUBENS  attract 
him  with  an  irresistible  charm  ;  but,  however,  the  study  of  the  antique 
models  has  revealed  to  him  how  much  there  is  in  these  types,  other- 
wise so  rich  and  varied,  which  is  inconsistent  with  sculpture.  And 
this  conviction  bears  its  fruit.  He  finds,  though,  even  in  the  monu- 
ments that  Greece  has  left  us,  a  figure  which  shows  him  which  path  to 
follow,  and  which  reconciles  lineal  purity  with  the  exuberant  force  so 
assiduously  pursued  by  the  Flemish  school.  The  Venus  of  Medici 
placed  in  the  Tribune  at  Florence  has  only  a  conventional  beauty  ;  the 
Venus  of  Milo,  as  strong,  as  supple,  as  developed  as  the  nymphs  of 
RUBENS,  surpasses  them  in  beauty  of  outline  and  in  the  division  of 
masses.  And  it  was  to  this  divine  model  that  he  rallied.  Therefore, 
the  candelabra  asked  for  by  the  Duke  de  Montpensier,  which  is 
conceived  with  a  boldness  and  treated  with  a  simplicity  worthy  of  the 
most  learned  epochs,  has  obtained  the  greatest  suffrage.  It  charms 
ingenuous  minds  accustomed  to  consult  only  their  own  impressions, 
and  satisfies  the  minds  initiated  by  study  into  all  the  intricacies  of  art. 
I  am  now  coming  to  M.  BARYE'S  last  work,  the  Combat  of  the 
Lapithce  and  the  Centaur,  in  which  culminate  in  such  a  striking 
manner  all  the  ideas  he  has  expressed  in  the  last  twenty  years.  He 
has  been  able,  in  this  last  work,  to  unfold  all  his  treasures  of  knowl- 
edge, and  to  demonstrate  to  the  most  incredulous  that  he  knows  the 
human  form  no  less  perfectly  than  he  does  that  of  the  lion  or  the  bull. 
He  had  to  struggle  against  a  terrible  memory,  against  the  metope  that 
decorates  the  British  Museum.  He  freed  himself  from  this  adversary 
by  choosing  a  new  path.  His  group  has  nothing  in  common  with  the 
fragments  brought  to  London  by  Lord  Elgin.  The  Centaur,  by  M. 
BARYE,  in  its  action,  in  its  form,  severs  itself  distinctly  from  the  Greek 
tradition  without  disparaging  it.  The  author  inspired  himself  from 
nature  and  devoted  himself  to  reproducing  all  its  details  he  had 
observed.  He  easily  understood  that  he  could  not,  without  exposing 
himself  to  censure  on  the  ground  of  rashness,  try  to  reproduce  in  full 
embossment  the  high  reliefs  sculptured  by  the  hand  of  PHIDIAS,  the 
perfection  of  which  disheartens  the  most  skillful  sculptors.  A  lover 
of  the  ideal,  he  sought  it  by  processes  almost  always  neglected  by 
the  Greeks.  The  Attic  school,  the  most  learned  of  all  the  schools, 

104 


ANTOINE  LOUIS   BARYE 

seldom  concerned  itself  with  energetic  action,  or  at  least,  when  it  did 
undertake  to  produce  iti  tempered  strength  with  majesty.  It  is  for 
action  expressed  with  entire  freedom  that  M.  BARYE  claims  our  atten- 
tion ;  the  novelty  of  his  work  and  the  designs  conceived  with  sagacity, 
accomplished  with  courage,  deserve  the  approbation  of  connoisseurs. 
The  subject  alone  carries  our  thoughts  back  to  the  Acropolis  of 
Athens.  As  to  the  style  of  the  group,  it  is  beyond  the  limits  of  com- 
parison. 

The  Centaur  of  M.  BARYE  is  excellent  in  its  parts  borrowed  from 
the  horse,  young,  vigorous,  and  boldly  accentuated  ;  in  its  human  part 
it  belongs  to  realism  by  its  minuteness  of  detail ;  the  ideal  intervened 
only  in  the  uniting  of  these  two  natures  and  in  the  conception  of  the 
action.  The  head  of  the  Centaur  held  in  the  powerful  grasp  of 
the  LapithcB,  and  who  struggles  convulsively  while  threatened  with  the 
club,  is  an  invention  full  of  novelty,  deserving  of  the  highest  praise.  A 
sculptor  of  the  highest  order  only  could  conceive  and  execute  a  group 
of  this  kind  with  so  much  freedom.  All  those  who  have  been  abso- 
lutely bent  until  now  in  recognizing  M.  BARYE  only  as  a  sculptor  of 
genre,  are  compelled,  when  facing  the  group  of  the  Lapithce  and  the 
Centaur,  to  abandon  their  restrictions  and  acknowledge  him  as  a 
sculptor  capable  of  taking  in  hand  and  of  executing  at  any  time  the 
most  difficult  and  the  greatest  variety  of  subjects.  Who  is  there,  in 
fact,  among  the  masters  in  charge  of  public  teaching,  competent  to 
make  such  a  group  as  the  Lapithce  and  the  Centaur  f 

Here  is  certainly  a  well-filled  life,  and  still  M.  BARYE  did  not  do 
all  he  might  have  done,  if  he  had  found,  in  the  men  appointed  by  the 
State  to  distribute  the  works,  more  benevolence,  more  sympathy,  and 
especially  more  enlightenment.  The  Centaur  has  been  purchased  and 
will  be  cast  in  bronze.  This  is  an  act  of  justice.  It  was  easier  to  have 
done  still  better ;  they  should  have  doubled  the  size  of  the  model  and 
had  it  executed  in  marble.  This  work  would  show  to  great  advan- 
tage at  the  Tuileries.  Opportunities  have  not  being  wanting  to  wor- 
thily employ  the  talent  of  M.  BARYE.  Unfortunately,  all  these  oppor- 
tunities ended  in  promises,  or  in  most  peculiar,  I  might  say  most 
ridiculous,  orders.  A  crocodile  smothering  a  serpent  excites  admira- 
tion. The  author  is  required  to  model  a  bust  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 
A  lion  carries  all  before  it  by  acclamation.  A  statue  of  St.  Clotilda  is 

105 


NOTES  ON  CERTAIN  MASTERS 

required  of  the  author.  Do  not  such  orders  seem  like  a  challenge 
against  common  sense  ?  The  statue  of  St.  Clotilda,  placed  in  a  chapel 
of  the  Madeleine,  is  certainly  not  devoid  of  merit ;  the  face  is  impressed 
with  serene  gravity,  the  drapery  is  adjusted  with  grace ;  but  to  require 
the  portrait  of  a  prince  or  the  statue  of  a  saint  as  a  recompense  to  the 
author  of  a  crocodile  and  of  a  lion  is  most  certainly  an  odd  way  of 
apportioning  the  works.  When  there  was  a  question  of  crowning  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe,  to  efface  the  excrescence  that  dominates  the  acro- 
tera,  M.  BARYE  was  required  to  present  a  subject.  His  sketch,  known 
to  all  artists,  filled  every  requirement  of  the  programme.  The  im- 
perial eagle,  with  outspread  wings,  held  in  his  powerful  claws  the 
animated  armorial  bearings  of  the  vanquished  nations,  which  were 
represented  in  the  four  corners  of  the  acrotera  by  four  rivers  held  in 
duress.  Was  it  possible  to  crown  more  worthily  the  monument  raised 
to  the  glory  of  the  French  army  ?  Could  they  have  looked  for  a  pro- 
ject more  in  keeping  with  the  victories  carved  on  the  fasciae  of  the 
arch  ?  Austerlitz  and  Jemmapes,  Arcola  and  Aboukir,  were  they  not 
epitomized  in  that  crowning  imagined  by  M.  BARYE  ?  No  one  would 
dare  to  contest  it.  Good  sense,  facts,  spoke  for  him.  Then  came 
diplomatic  scruples.  The  wise  man  who  had  the  happy  thought  to 
address  himself  to  M.  BARYE  was  afraid  to  wound  the  self-love  of 
the  Councils  by  accepting  his  design,  and  the  sketch  so  deservedly  ad- 
mired was  soon  condemned  to  be  forgotten. 


106 


GIUISS    BROTHERS   4    TURNURE, 

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